NOT: Three Monkeys, London Film Festival, Odeon West End, Leicester Square

There are many reasons why I think this film deserved its Best Director accolade at Cannes, and while I could admire the technical virtuosity of the cinematography, direction and acting, I still can't say I enjoyed it. The film starts with a lie which begets more lies which slowly (oh so slowly) engulf the suspicious husband, trapped wife and secretive son. There are many long takes of recriminating silences, dark shadows and everything and everyone is covered in a film of clammy sweat. It all adds to the sense of claustrophia and isolation, but I felt the pace was too studied, the framing was too obviously deliberate and I never felt fully engaged. It didn't help that my neighbour stank of cigarettes and literally could not sit still for 20 seconds.