Two men in search of Oscars go to an island that is far too close to purgatory for any writer to contrive where upon they drink themselves into oblivion, and, like, that's it. Pattison has won me over and this film doesn't detract from that (he's one of, amoung many of the best things about Tenant) but even my new found enamor and the solid, 'even if he phoned it in' brilliance of Defoe doesn't makes up for this film being what it is, a claustrophobic cluster not exactly f&$k,more foreplay, abouve the pants stuff with literally and figuratively no happy ending.

But, like, I cede there maybe many things I missed, subtle and brooding, hidden and obscured and I accept that my frame of mind wasn't right for it though I don't think it would ever be. I like films with a sense of menace and dread, sinister and dark themes but instead of delivering these it supplied a painful account of two mens decent into maddness, and I just couldn't get over the sense of they're in purgatory' which wheather they were or weren't isn't a good thing.

Though other than the performances the cinematography was stella, the tension times was tense which again is more the pity. A chance lost ultimately.