That’s right, readers: ‘Wristcutters: a Love Story’. Such strained subversion courses through the weeping veins of this slacker afterlife road movie (see!) which proposes that whenever some miserable emo bod decides to dance the razorblade mambo, far from being cast into a pit of damnation, they are, in fact, transported to a stagnant desert purgatory to live out a drab, if relatively carefree existence. Zia (Patrick Fugit) is one such ‘offer’ who, upon hearing that his ex-girlfriend is also in town, quickly hooks up with a comedy eastern European sidekick and sets off in a clapped-out banger to find her. Coming across like a butchered Terry Gilliam dream project, ‘Wristcutters…’ heedlessly drums out a one-note (albeit strangely watchable) story without ever realising the dire need to change pitch.
Opportunities to comment on the ethical grey areas of suicide are mostly squandered and, as the pointless digressions begin to pile up, your mind begins to drift from the action on screen to wondering how exactly director Goran Dukic is going to tie everything together.