Hooded faces, Russian roulette, a casino in the desert. Despite its classy aspirations, this chaotic thriller trips at the first hurdle with a staggeringly banal angle on luck. Good fortune, we're asked to believe, not only exists, but can be transferred and stolen through physical contact, even with photographs. Four players, each the sole survivor of a catastrophe, vie for supremacy in a dangerous game of - well, tag, basically. Set pieces pass the time. On whose treacle-smothered head will an insect land? Who can sprint blindfold through the forest without knocking himself unconscious? But it's hard to care, with the rules changing at any moment. Not that incoherence is the main problem. A can of worms underlies the film's concept of blessed survivors, and especially cheap is the way it casually drafts in the Holocaust to bolster its daft thesis.