A rough around the edges druggy lens flare psych retrofuturistic playpen for ideas splashed on the page like a spacedrugged-out Jackson Pollock. I have no idea where I stand or if this thing was rightfully gaseous in form and execution and hiding only semi-successfully on purpose behind slightly transparent obtuse phantasmagoria swirls, or needed more time and a tad more focus, but then I think that's exactly what Cosmatos wants and needs and desires to have us bare witness to within his own obelisk chamber. In fact scratch the more focus notion, take more away. Save us, Panos.