Hello. I'm taking over for Kyle Regan. And who am I? Just a man, married, living in the north end, gainfully employed (for now), and somewhat wistful of younger Cap Hill days when I would go out every night. So doing everything The Stranger tells me to do for a month could be called a pathetic attempt to relive the past. Call it a midlife crisis, I don’t care. Also, the wife is leaving town for three weeks to see family on the East Coast, and I get bored and lonely when she’s not around. So here we are.

The first thing I must say is that I am not, and could never be, Kyle Regan. I share the doubts expressed in comments by other Sloggers yesterday about the wisdom of repeating this experiment, the unlikelihood of lightning striking twice, etc. Really, my efforts are most likely doomed to disappoint. But Savage wants somebody to hold the feet of Stranger writers to the fire and I need something to do. So you’re stuck with me, at least until I regain my sanity and bail after a week or so.

Anyway, the movie. Charles is right: It’s slow. Very slow. There are endless scenes of sour-faced men (the lead character’s being the most sour of them all) trudging through cold, desolate streets, typing away on ancient computers, and buying bad coffee in broken-down markets tagged with pointless graffiti. About an hour in, a man sitting a few seats down from me began snoring loudly, one of those deep, sonorous snores that only comes from a truly restful and peaceful state.

The last 20 minutes almost redeemed the film. Almost. I won’t describe this portion of the movie since it’s the only portion worth seeing, but suffice it to say that the drudgery which precedes it is given additional meaning, via some pointy-headed but not-entirely-annoying philosophizing.

Go ahead and see it; just be sure to be fully alert when you walk in.