And so is this movie. Joe -- at least we think it's Joe, since we're never actually told his name, or, indeed anything, since there is no dialogue -- lives a boring life in a boring place. We get to watch him clean his shoes a lot. He also goes into what appears to be a lobby and sits, staring at something, apparently a television. This happens forty-seven billion times.
Now, how is anyone supposed to be interested in watching this, even for ten seconds? We don't watch it for ten seconds, however. We get to watch it for ten minutes, unless you take my advice and don't look at it at all.
I suppose this is art. It did, after all, have the distinction of being an official selection of the Cannes Film Festival. The liner notes from the DVD it appears on, the third disk of a Warner Brothers short subjects compilation disk issued in 2001, notes that it takes place in a mental institution "where the trivial becomes monumental." Or perhaps it's Cannes.
Oh, yes, there's lots of repetitious harmonica music.
Now, how is anyone supposed to be interested in watching this, even for ten seconds? We don't watch it for ten seconds, however. We get to watch it for ten minutes, unless you take my advice and don't look at it at all.
I suppose this is art. It did, after all, have the distinction of being an official selection of the Cannes Film Festival. The liner notes from the DVD it appears on, the third disk of a Warner Brothers short subjects compilation disk issued in 2001, notes that it takes place in a mental institution "where the trivial becomes monumental." Or perhaps it's Cannes.
Oh, yes, there's lots of repetitious harmonica music.
