The New York Times by Beatrice Loayza
With a kind of dissociative, jet lag-induced delirium, the film transitions — somehow fluidly — from the lush woodlands and desolate churches of southern Germany to the flickering lights and modernist textures of Hong Kong in the throes of mass demonstrations.
A static, monotonic, and at times obvious film about anomie, alienation, and depression. The director's eye captures these states well and, often, with considerable craft and some beauty. But the film itself, reeking with depression, succeeds only in alienating the viewer. There is nothing new, or culturally or psychologically unique, in this film.