The plot, what little there is of one, is very Lovecraftian - endless flight through a seaside town, followers of an obscure sect pursuing you even in your sleep, locked up safe in your motel. But there's an overriding voice that is reminiscent of Shirley Jackson - events taking on intimate, sinister undertones that echo and echo through claustrophobic domesticity just starting to sprawl out into a post-war infinity.
Here, we arrive at that same gas station twenty some odd years later, and the landscape is exhausted, ghostly and abandoned, all darkened window displays, parking lots and all night supermarkets. The pursuit continues, though, and nothing that has been erected can comfort you. Every scene in this movie either gives…