Holy Motors demonstrates the limitations of my self-imposed 200 words restriction.

I could spend 200 words summarising the plot, perhaps by detailing the overall narrative (that is difficult, since there arguably isn’t one) or by picking out individual moments to emphasize the film’s “craziness” (a naked man is cradled by Eva Mendes in a burka /Kylie Minogue sings in an abandoned department store, littered with mannequin limbs).

I could spend 200 words discussing the film as a reflection on obsolete technology. I could spend 200 words discussing how it’s also an extended commentary on filmmaking. Or, similarly, how it serves as rumination on the fluidity and degradation of the identity of committed actors.

I could spend 200 words on how the film took some time to win me over, initially striking me as deliberately, unnecessarily absurd, too disorienting to engage with.

I could spend 200 words on Carax’s imaginative, confident filmmaking, or twice that on the astounding performance of Lavant, whose versatile performance anchors the film.

But none of this would do the film justice (nor does this!). Holy Motors is genuinely transcendent filmmaking, hugely affective and brilliantly original, and its essence can’t be captured by any number of words.

Rating: 196/200