An obscenely tedious film: there's even a bit where Clay trains his camera on a businessman having a mobile phone conversation on a train ("I'm sorry about that, we got cut off; I'm on a train") for a full ten minutes - annoying enough in real life, let alone having to pay to see it reenacted. "The Great Ecstasy of Robert Carmichael" at least took some care to set out its debatable thesis, but this is full of feints and ellipses - the final hour morphs into an altogether different movie, less "Tropical Malady" than a low-grade fever - that would leave you wondering, if you were still awake, what Clay was trying to say in the first place. Pity the poor fat white men Thai women don't enjoy having sex with? Bangkok is a place where some suffer for the pleasures of others? Stumped, I turned to the press notes, to find Clay in full voice: "The second part begins with a quasi-docu naturalism, but the picture is then transformed through a sieve of genre familiarity, narrative into fable, character into archetype, all moving inexorably towards a point where stasis is achieved, when the camera returns to the dolly and these have ceased to be characters at all, just as the narrative has drifted away in a puff of gunsmoke and we are left with only essence." Having encountered more than my fair share of pretentious film students in my time, and with a sudden and urgent need to track down the sieve of genre familiarity (where to, guv - Mordor or IKEA?), I'm simply calling "bollocks" on this.