By the time you read this, you'll likely have heard something about Gaspar Noe's Irreversible. About how hard it is to watch at times, or how graphic it is. Perhaps you've heard about how a great many people walked out at the Cannes premiere, and subsequent screenings as well. When I saw it, there were about forty people in the theater. Fifteen walked out, eight within thirty seconds of each other at a certain point in the film. When the lights abruptly came up at the end, I noticed a woman in front of me in tears. The movie is probably about as difficult as you might imagine it to be; your imagination may push things a little further, but it also provides a window of escape that the movie most definitely lacks. Thus, the walk-outs. It's not a pleasant film, nor is it requisite viewing -- I can only think of a few people I'd personally reccomend it to. But, nonetheless, it is brilliant.

The film, although told in reverse order, is not a backwards mystery like Memento. The story is simple, and there are those who will criticize it, saying that if it played in chronological order that it would be pointless and trite. But it simply wasn't made to be viewed that way; it's like saying a normally ordrered film wouldn't be as good played backwards.

Noe's camera spins and spirals through about a dozen improvised scenes, all filmed in only one or two takes. The photography is dizzying and purposely disorienting, and the sound design is equally disturbing. It will raise your pulse, and possibly your stomach, even before you see anything truly upsetting.

The difficult scenes: there is the murder, the skull bashing, which is about as violent as anything you could see on screen but still somewhat safe because we know that special effects and makeup were involved. Then there is the rape, which is ten uncut, unmoving minutes that are, plainly, unbearable. I didn't close my eyes; I let them drift out of focus, sometimes fixing my attention on a corner of the screen, sometimes glancing at the audience and counting the number of people leaving, but I didn't close them, out of respect for the actors who put themselves through this nightmare of a scene. Monica Belluci's performance is brave and selfless, and so, in a different sense, is the man playing her attacker; I don't know how I would deal with myself after playing that role.

Interestingly, before I watched the film, I was more afraid of the murder scene than the rape; I think this is because the murder is horrifying mostly because of the visual element, which our imagination excels at conjuring examples of. The rape scene is so effective because of the emotion involved -- an area that the mind can never completely grasp on its own; how often do you ever imagine yourself in such a situation?

The film gets easier as it goes on; it all takes place over the course of one day, a day that begins in love and perfect happiness. Thus, the end of the movie is happy, but because of what we know will happen it is also sad. Everything that happens is shaded by what we've already seen, and yet the end of the movie, a deliriously gorgeous shot followed by an abstract explosion of noise and sound, is beautiful, blissful and painful at the same time. The subtitle of the film is Time Destroy All Things, and it refers to both the story and the actual experience of watching the film.

I don't want to prepare you for the film with this review; out of respect for what Noe has made, I wouldn't want to detract from the experience (the bludgeoning, if you will) and so I've been purposefully vague. But when do go see it, and you do sit through it, allow me to point out a few things to look for. There is an obvious homage to Kubrick, whose influence can be found throughout the film, that is quite wrenching. Also, in the scene where you are most likely to be closing your eyes, watch for a momentary detail in the background, and consider the chance, passed up, that it symbolizes, and think about how it makes you feel. Like it or not, your reaction alone validates the entire film.