Stella cadente

Minarro's directorial debut has the distinct air of a vanity project: it's the work of a man no longer content to occupy the backseat. Unfortunately it is not a patch on Sokurov or Serra's work in the field. It fancies itself as a meditation on (impotent) power, of its isolating effects, but it's all surface. The digital cinematography, while occasionally striking, is also too antiseptic to have a real transportive effect, while the use of contemporary pop is more jarring than playful.