A lonely dude, who spends his days selling watches out of a suitcase and his nights peeing into plastic objects in his bedroom, has a female customer one day who wants to buy his watch. The watch on his arm. He refuses at first, but once she tells him she's leaving the country for Paris he finally agrees. He doesn't seem to be interested in her at all, but for whatever reason for the rest of the movie he's obsessed with changing the time on every clock he sees to Paris time. What does this all mean? I have no clue.
I'm sure the story has something to do with loneliness and the feeling of loss (his father recently died) and I'm sure some people will be really moved by the unhurried pace and the complete lack of camera movement, but it just bored me to tears. I love slow cinema, but at some point along the way something needs to happen. An interesting character, a story, an ending. Anything will do. Watching this wordless dude fiddling with clock hands isn't a story. But what do I know? Maybe it's too staggeringly brilliant film for my simple little brain to comprehend. Skip it.
If you need me I'll be in my room watching DON'T LAUGH AT MY ROMANCE.
