Director Benedek Fliegauf employs a minimalist style, including a haunting absence of color, to tell his spare and relentless story of a twenty-four-hour period in the life of an unnamed Hungarian drug dealer (Felicián Keresztes). Though the characters may have few redeeming personality traits and are marked by an absence of connections to life, there is humor, surrealism, and poignancy in the film. Lynchian moments of a classmate dressed as a giant tooth and a religious leader suffering an impossibly distended stomach from cocaine abuse share the day's space with the protagonist's attempts to look after a young girl who may be his daughter. Rather than any cloying parent-child bonding, however, Fliegauf portrays the relationship as one of minimal tolerance; the moneymaking transactions must take precedence. Throughout the dealer's odyssey, he finds himself as confessor and unresponsive witness to the misery he encounters. The irony, of course, is that his job creates not only suffering but the means of temporary deliverance from it. Adding to the film's bleached palette is a soundtrack of eerie and effective music from a group called Raptors' Kollektiva. These plaintive sounds combine with the powerful storyline to create a somber and unforgettable portrait of unmoored and unhappy lives.