Call this Petri's "Weekend." Every cityscape is full of trash. Every dog, though leashed, is out of control. Strange things happen in odd corners of the screen. Or call it a film for our times: terrorism, assassination, strikes, blackouts, mental illness, monitored constantly yet constantly accepted. Or if not accepted, then subjugated to more immediate concerns: It's also an intensely erotic film, in a mental sort of way, if failure can be erotic, as if Lina Wertmuller's Giancarlo Giannini found education, shiny suits, and philosophy. Like "Pierrot le fou"'s Ferdinand, he's always reading, though I don't think we ever see what. Call this Petri's "Weekend." Every cityscape is full of trash. Every dog, though leashed, is out of control. Strange things happen in odd corners of the screen. Or call it a film for our times: ter．．．
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