L'Argent review

I was having a pseudo-intellectual moment.
The type of moment you have when you inexplicably begin to arch your eyebrows, gravitate towards corduroy attire, relate every discussion to existentialism and drink hot beverages with your pinkie extended with a constipated expression on your face just to let everyone know you're in the process of deep thought.

So after skimming the shrine that is my dvd shelf to find some appropriate viewing, I magically stumbled upon an intellectual-gem-of-a-film that is Robert Bresson's L'Argent - a foreign, subtitled adaptation of a Tolstoy story.

So I perched my behind on the sofa, slung my soul through the deepest dooms of torture and all I have to say now on the matter is that the character at the begining has one mother-effin full-blown case of the monobrow.
As to the plot of the film, I was genuinely too distracted by the fuzzball caterpillars cacooned across the characters face to pay much attention.

I have wikipedia-ed it though. And there's something about existentialism right?