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<font size="2"><p>Movie Review
<font size="4"><br>The Dreamlife of Angels</font>
<br>by David Ng</font>
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<p><font size="3" face="Book Antiqua,Century Schoolbook,Times New Roman"><br><font size="6" color="#FF0000"><b>T</b></font>he antithesis of <i>The Matrix</i> is Erick Zonca’s <i>The Dreamlife of Angels</i>. Feted at last year’s Cannes Film Festival and worshipped at last fall’s New York Film Festival, this movie is now playing at a theater far away from you and has no intention of getting any closer. Here is undoubtedly the most elitist film of the year. A film student’s wet dream. It bears no ideas relevant to life outside the art house. In fact, <i>The Dreamlife of Angels</i> has no ideas. It’s an empty aesthetic experience. It’s an exercise in cinematic masturbation that surprisingly never reaches orgasm. It leaves us exhausted, frustrated, and looking for more.
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