While the plot paparazzi might miss this scoop, it's not for lack of story. A detour form conventional narrative fixation is requisite, going off-road and leaving behind the gridlock. The narrative of Blissfully Yours barges medias res into a web of calculated maneuverings, some to which, on a larger scale, the off-screen personalities are either oblivious or apathetic. The stakes aren't limited to abstract moral victories, but rather, concrete, readily identifiable human needs. Though the dealers may go incognito, what's clear is that the multi-nationally incorporated house keeps winning.

There is a game being played at the doctor's office, which opens the film abruptly without credits. Another game begins on the heels of this one, with the doctor's next patient, leaving no doubt as to why the doctor is well-versed and unchallenged by the amusing stratagems; whether a patient mysteriously can't talk and has come without identification, or a man is having problems with a perfectly good hearing aid, it's all in a good day's work.

The key to these games is obtainable by heeding the old adage, "follow the money." Min, a Burmese in the country illegally and not fluent in Thai, needs a medical certificate to work. Roong is committed to him out of emotional attachment, and Orn and her husband provide connections and caretaking at a sticker price.

While this film constitutes slice-of-life and approximate real-time, it presents the day-to-day as persistently punctuated by socio-political and economic realities-not as chance occurrences, but as resident obstacles always operative in the fabric of this particular here-and-now quotidian. And because of this specificity, it seems all the more applicable to the universal.

Apichatpong Weerasethakul's quirky dialogues aren't the typical throwaway variety. Following the ping-pong of these innocuous speech acts reveals the angles and points of contention, and this is supported inadvertently by the implications of voiced-over inner thoughts and the subtle suggestiveness of the mise-en-scene that redefines the notion of product placement in political terms.

The director meticulously incorporates the off-screen. In the opening scene, after the doctor decides to have a look at Min's throat, she cocks back her head and puts out her hand, which works as a magic wand as the off-screen sound of running water issues momentarily followed by his footsteps. With stethoscope in hand, an assistant makes her onscreen introduction. Later, a particularly impressive tracking shot is employed with the camera apparently mounted on the back of Orn's car and sound joins the off-screen audiovisuals for rich effect.

In fact, as visually invigorating a film as Blissfully Yours is, its sound design and application enjoys equal partnership. In a scene where Roong services Min, the sound of the running river provides a seemingly complicit accompaniment, flowing and smacking against itself. Later, with Orn crying, the river acquires a more sympathetic and accommodating character of sound.

There is a scene that seems to give a nod to Tsai Ming-liang's The Hole, where the natural beauty of the locale is revealed to be besieged by industrial activities. Orn locates a discarded mask and dons it for protection, recalling Yang Kuei-Mei trying to resist the mysterious illness in that film. But much more Tsai-like, is Weerasethakul's deft handling of loneliness and isolation, which the film brings into stunning clarity, and seizes upon the fragility of the moment. One gains by following this narrative on its own terms, and the collected details coalesce into a vibrating coherence. As said in Tarantino's Pulp Fiction, "things are coming to a head," and though there's no Oscar-winning dramatic blow-ups, a much more affecting boiling point is reached. Spoilers follow.

The three main characters are together in an idyllic setting alongside a river. Orn affectionately looks over to Roong who has earlier unknowingly provided an important dose of therapy addressing the root of Orn's grief that had only been provided unobtrusively in this rich narrative. In response, Roong turns away rather coldly, one, never so fond of Orn, and two, a little spiteful because Orn's interrupted her two-some with Min. Orn's reaction shot tells it all, a momentary portrait of dashed spirits and an indicator that somewhere within, the emotional reservoir has been pressed beyond capacity. It is to be remembered that due to the trauma of her son having drowned, the doctor has proscribed anti-depressants. The riverbank sets a retrospective scene and probably this is the first time she's gone swimming since that day. Earlier Roong asked Min why he was smoking since he's sick, and he replied that didn't she know the Burmese smoke when they are sick? Orn, amid her unobserved weeping, takes one of Min's cigarettes-her sickness is of the heart. What this entire segment underscores is that the most intense loneliness is when one's emotions and condition seem of no consequence to others who are present. While Orn lies down discretely sobbing, a long shot frames impactfully her separation from the others-Roong and Min lying opposite, the shot divided by a tree. Weerasethakul has the fine touch to give Orn a moment to go through Roong's things, eliminating any one-sided ploy to evoke pity, and in so doing, maintaining depth.

Roong is as much alone as Orn since even with Min lying next to her, her needs and emotions are of little concern for him; he thinks only of himself. Roong's sexual cravings had built up through the day. In the car, she unconsciously fondled the stick shift after having applied some lotion to Min's unhealthy skin. In the berry picking scene, she initiated their kissing and even put her hand on Min's groin area. The amorous session is cut short because Min's skin condition is causing him too much discomfort. Though she went through the trouble of servicing him earlier, there's been no reciprocation. She's repeated calling out to him, unanswered. While Min sleeps next to her, she coaxes his penis out of his pants and reactivates it, all the while Min is still sleeping. One comes away with a sense that she's allowed herself to do all the giving and he's gladly just taken. She is but a temporary vacation for him, free meals included, which is nice for Min, who is away from his wife and kids and without legal means to work.

Min's last voice-over is especially affecting as it moves disembodied from him through the foliage as a touring spirit. The play of wind on the leaves is as though his spirit were interacting with this place he loves best. We've received personal information from Min here-and-there that while being direct and confessional-not to imply any acknowledgement of camera-is far from jaded, run-of-the-mill exposition. Instead, it interacts vitally with the screen, sound, and occasionally, the overlay of his writings and doodling. His self accounts make no appeals for justifications or sympathy; they are just given. Speaking of those overlays, they persist throughout, subliminally. Stepping frame by frame-if you have to see on DVD, you might as well-through the first scene is a revealing exercise.

Segueing from Min's voice over montage, one last impacting close-up of Roong is offered up, not as a blatant freeze-frame, but just a glimpse as she's turning her head skyward before the blackness of an ended movie pervades. This is exactly the type of film that I find myself getting out of long after I've left the theater.

Mr. Fred Patton