Burton remains disconnected from the light, his cinema only achieving the ephemera. The scent of pastels replaced by the heat of hardware. Your travels will always leave a trace. The camera lovingly vacates within a ram-shackled backwoods, overstocked with broken dreams, crippled big tops, and discarded histories. His father's face was floating, fading in Adam's ale. The tall-tale canvas orally yearns the passing of its fabricator, while its inscribed images remain uncertain of their origin or author.
A fetching, yet disposable piece of absurd surrealism that deconstructs how we handle everyday tribulations along with our social interactions shared between gardeners, neighbors, co-workers, and pizza employees. Dupieux directs the ambiguity in such a way that allows the viewer to feel apart of the joke rather than alienated to the point of complete disassociation.