Comparisons only categorise originality and this one stands alone. The director's style is the opposite of pastiche. Film buffs may find his attitude disrespectful. Certainly, it kicks. He mixes magic with realism, thought pictures with dream clips, accepting that the running commentary inside your head is more relevant than talk-talk.
Dull jobs stimulate imagination, if only as an escape, and Ecstasy sends parcel bombs to the brain.
Saturday night at the club is where the grooves, the dance, the drugs chase them to the edge of oblivion before starting the long haul back towards paranoia. One recalls the comedown. All you can look forward to now is unconsciousness. But you can never sleep. In some ways, this is an adult-free zone.