Here's my economic theory of cinema: the more complex a film is, the more of a bargain it is. Hear me out. If you're paying the same ticket price for every film, you're really paying for the number of minutes that the movie engaged you. Some films keep you hooked for their running length and then are mostly forgotten once you've left the confines of the theatre. Others (the 'Transformers' series comes to mind) stop being enjoyable up to forty-five minutes before the end. But the thrifty filmgoer knows to go for the movies that not only entertain in the moment but leave you pondering for weeks afterwards. It is the Memento's, the Mulholland Drive's and, indeed, the Holy Motors of this world that give the best cinematic bang for your buck.
 
         In some ways, the public's relationship with the cinema lies at the heart of Holy Motors. In fact, Leo Carax's first film in a decade opens with a haunting shot of a cinema audience staring back at the viewer, as if the screen itself has been replaced by a hazy mirror. It's a powerful statement of intent that is at once baffling and intimidating, but the film only grows in narrative and thematic ambition from there. Denis Lavant stars as Oscar, a man with a very particular set of skills. Picked up by a white limousine in the morning, Lavant is chauffeured around Paris completing tasks that require him to don various costumes and disguises. Throughout the day, he becomes a hunched female beggar, a moustachioed assassin and a monstrous figure called Mr. Merde. The true purpose of these jobs is obscure to us but this underlying mystery keeps Carax's vignettes from feeling overly episodic. Every time he adopted another persona, I was merely anxious to see what further scrap of information might be revealed.
 
         If this still doesn't sound enticing, I should say that the plot summary is only a fraction of Holy Motors' wonders. Working with a small budget, Carax gives the film a distinct visual style, exploiting the Parisian setting for all its worth; a scene set in the abandoned art-nouveau department store Samaritaine is an absolute master-stroke. The director brings out just as much in his star, whose marvellously weird face adapts to each segment while still maintaining an overarching pathos. Oscar's fractured lifestyle mirrors the difficulty of defining Holy Motors. It is both wickedly funny and utterly shocking; it is a sci-fi fantasy, a genre mash-up and a quixotic visual essay. It's a masterwork and a mind-f**k.
 
         For all five people who read this review and go to see Holy Motors, feel free to come up to me at lectures and tell me what you think it means. I'll be the guy in the white limo.