We are told at the beginning that the text which occasionally appears on screen (the film is silent, minus occasional sound effects) is taken from the diary of Vivian Barrett, one half of a wealthy socialite pair that travels the world with seeming insouciance. Vivian's husband Leo has been injured while piloting a small plane and as a result suffers both physically and psychologically (also losing his hearing, lending logic to the silent film trope). A miracle anti-depressant may save him from a life of constant anxiety, and he is the entrepreneur who lucratively brings it to market. The happy couple starts their travels in Switzerland and Germany, then passes through London, Eastern Europe and North America. Vivian's diary quotes all along from an Indian sage whose book was found in Mexico among her family belongings- silly, almost satirical quotes about life and death and everything in between that seem like parody of Rumi or Khalil Gibran. But all is not as it seems, indeed, in this recreated idyll, and the last few minutes turn our assumptions about the narrator upside down. My Mexican Bretzel's dreamy, languid quality lulls the viewer into a false sense of security- but you'll just have to watch the film yourself to see exactly what I mean.