‘He Died with a Felafel in his Hand’ — Stretched thin

When you’re a depressed Aussie writer with nothing to lose you don’t give a fuck if your flatmate is sacrificing people in your backyard to the sounds of cult chanting.

He Died with a Felafel in his Hand is a nightmarish and unapologetic study of living in shared accommodations.

The films’s rambling and somewhat incoherent nature is both its best and worst asset. When it works, you get almost Tarantinoesque scenes populated with eccentric characters discussing metaphysics and masturbation. But half the time there’s no punchline, no meaning and no obvious entertainment value.

He Died with a Felafel in his Hand is a brilliant short-film that for some reason goes on for almost two hours.

// originally posted on my old blog