A movie about movies; Pretentious, humorless, pseudo-art-house garbage. This film starts out with a scene in which Robin Wright's agent (Harvey Keitel) is reaming her out for all the bad movie choices she's made. It seems the plot (if there is a plot) exists only to validate that first speech with a bizarre kind of meta allegory damning Robin Wright's acting career. If that really was the intention, and not just a bit of accidental irony, then I give it two stars. I wanted to like this movie, and believe me I tried. The dialogue feels purposefully glib and awkward, so much so that I was waiting for it to tie in with the surreal nature of the subject, but it never does. The Congress is a film that questions reality so much that it fails to set up any foundation upon which questions can be asked. Not only are there no answers, which can make a film thought-provoking, but no meaningful questions. The result is something substantially less profound than your average Road Runner cartoon, and less entertaining than a documentary about documentaries. Images flash before your eyes, sounds pummel your ears, yet nothing of consequence ever happens. Your 2 hr and 2 min could be better spent watching a lava lamp.