A man for hire from a variety of professions, from performance artist to hitman, drives around the city of lights in a white limo which doubles as a dressing, changing faces while attending to an assortment of details. "Holy Motors" is a film which I expected to try try my patience, and did so from the very first frame, and never once relented during the course of its two hours of inanity. Strangeness for the sake of strangeness only results in pointlessness, and I was amazed that I made it through the duration of this nonsense, feeling the impulse to leave several times throughout. Many reviews have praised Denis Lavant's performance, who dons nine or so different personages throughout the film, but to what end does it service? "Holy Motors" is a film which defies explanation, but more to the point, defies any logical justification for seeing it. I now await backlash from the hipster set criticizing me for not getting this avant-garde bullshit.