Slow-moving and often uncomfortable, The Loneliest Planet spends most of its time following a couple and their local guide as they trek through the stunning, empty landscapes of the Caucasus. The tension is built with painstaking care, the performances are finely tuned, and every flicker of emotion feels authentic. The problem is that the film’s dramatic heartbeat — a single, unsettling incident that subtly shifts the relationship — is buried in so much visual narrative undergrowth, that its impact fades.
Julia Loktev’s observational approach is admirable in craft but punishing in pace. Long stretches pass with little more than trudging, occasional chatter, and scenic mountains, leaving you half-hypnotised, half-restless. When the script prods at gender roles, instinct, and the fragility of intimacy, it has something to say — but it whispers it through the wind rather than speaking clearly. Ultimately, its a technically accomplished exercise that may impress your patience more than your memory.