Interiors (1978) was so ghastly in every conceivable way I almost thought I had turned on a parody of a movie named Interiors, or a low-rent version of a really bad Bergman movie, and there are plenty of those.
The behaviour of the ‘characters’ – the nebbish, narcissistic blabbering lot with therapists – in this joke of a film had me reaching for the cyanide. The lack of purpose wasn’t what vexed me the most, it was the prevailing smugness, the tightly-wound dialogue so concocted and so unlike how humans interact that it’s immediately begging you to quit. The Brechtian Effect in cinema works when it’s done right, but I don’t think this movie even does it on purpose, it’s that far up its own arse.
Interiors is horrible and everyone in it is infuriating.
Just horrible.
But if you want to be irritated, this is the one for you.
Wanderings and ... wonderings. 