I have to say I approached this movie with some dubiousness as I had read the book, which had no plot whatsoever, and was unsure how they were going to turn it into a film, but I found myself really enjoying this movie. Readers of the book will recognise many, many characters amalgamated into a few central ones. Basically this movie is about Danny, an aspiring writer who has lived in 49 different houses with an assortment of dead-beats, moontanners, lesbians, Satan-worshippers, neurotics, etc., etc., their antics and tangled relationships. As far as acting is concerned, Noah Taylor takes the bored, lifeless facial expression to new heights. Despite the lack of plot this was a very easy and enjoyable movie to watch, although it put me off share-housing for life. I would recommend this to any movie-goer looking for something different and original with personality.

I thought I knew what offbeat, absurdist comedy was, but I think this is weirder than anything else I can recall watching. A sense of narrative is present but emphatically minimized as we're instead treated to a series of vignettes loosely centered around one character who is around for all of them to one degree or another. Each successive scene is theoretically grounded in some real-life scenario but taken to far-flung, farcically fantastical heights, with characters likewise rooted in earnest personalities and backgrounds but twisted into outlandish new shapes. Every small development along the way, scene writing and dialogue, almost comes out of nowhere, all but nonsensical, in shaping the story from one moment to the next as quasi-protagonist Danny finds himself living with an assemblage of bizarre persons. And all the the while the film maintains a dry, deadpan tone that, in tempering the silliness, adds to it. 'He died with a felafel in his hand' is a curiosity among curiosities.

The abject strangeness in Richard Lowenstein's screenplay is further amplified by his very particular shot composition, some choice lighting, and Andrew de Groot's very particular cinematography. All these lend to the fanciful whimsy that dominates these 100-some minutes, such that any themes or ideas broached that in another title would be serious and sincere (interpersonal drama, social issues, cultural values) are almost completely anything but in this case. Factor in the acting, which thanks to the dry tone comes off as entirely serious and sincere, and the result at all points is a perfectly ludicrous cavalcade of odd tomfoolery that at once is both logical and calculated, and illogical and off the cuff.

For all the abstruseness, there's almost a sense of free-form, improvisational poetry about the proceedings - a keen imagination finding structure where there is little or none, building something extraordinary out of practically nothing. And for all that - this is impressively well made, somehow funny and obliquely heartwarming amidst all the wild turns that it takes. Lowenstein demonstrates a fierce intelligence as both writer and director, bringing order to this left-field tableau like a kaleidoscope turned into a cubist mosaic. The cast give deceptively solid performances of nuance, range, and poise, providing a glimmer of honest humanity amidst dishonest baloney. And all the contributions of those behind the scenes - production design and art direction, hair and makeup, costume design, effects, stunts - are gratifyingly sharp and splendid, a real treat. I'm hard-pressed to think of any point of comparison to what this movie represents, though I'd certainly be interested in watching it. This probably won't appeal to everyone, considering its approach to humor and storytelling, but for anyone who appreciates the more unconventional and off-center side of cinema, this is maybe kind of a must-see? 'He died with a felafel in his hand' is definitely a picture all its own, that's for sure, and I'm so very pleased with just how entertaining it is.