Room For The Night

There is a moment in life when voyeurism is the closest you'll ever come to intimacy.

A middle-aged man in a car drives aimlessly through the night, into areas of the city frequented by prostitutes, flashbacking to happier times, while the last conversation with his wife/lover reruns in his head and her words are like shards, wounding him further, as the alienated cityscape offers no comfort.

Vincent Hunter's film is as unrelenting and tough as the true meaning of loneliness. Even the key to an hotel room has a desolate look to it and the silence inside his mind echoes the emptiness that lies ahead. He has reached the point where explanation is meaningless and language a subterfuge, so that when the girl in the micro-mini steps into his car, offering sexual favours at a sliding price scale, he cannot speak, which, for her, becomes threatening.

In a short moment, Hunter tells a story of breakdown, against a backdrop of mercenary emotional warfare. It is superbly told, using cinematic techniques with imagination and courage.

You won't find the tart with a heart in this movie. You won't find Julia Roberts, either. Instead, the reality of desperation is expressed by the glimpse of shaved pubic hair and the icy draught of bitter contempt.