An arrogant jerk and his whiny girlfriend embark on a journey to scout locations for photo shoots. The journey's rather uneventful but unfolds at an excruciatingly deliberate pace. They drive, make love, fight, make love, swim, make love, pet stray dogs, make love, buy groceries, make love, eat, make love, watch TV, make love, etc. This goes on for about 95 percent of the film's 17-hour running time. Then in the last few minutes of the film, something out of the blue happens that is totally unconnected to what has happened up until then. Warning: Dumont, the French genius who made the equally atrocious "L'Humanite," apparently is still on the loose and armed with a camera.
Review of Twentynine Palms
