Since arriving in London on Tuesday, I have had my one of the lenses in my glasses banged slightly out of place at a Wolf Alice gig, had my throat feel like it was doused in acid thanks to being sent with some accidentally well-past-use toothpaste, gained a painful yet hard-to-find ulcer on the inside of my lips, been incapable of getting an uninterrupted night’s sleep for whatever reason, and (as of yesterday) stricken down with a cold that I have no doubt inadvertently infected many other fine members of the Press Corp with by now. Yet, I strive on to bring you coverage, because I care like that. All joking aside, I’m not telling you this to try and garner “woe is me” pity sympathy, but rather because it inadvertently puts me in the right mood to watch a new Michael Haneke movie. For Michael Haneke, as anyone who has made even the most cursory glance at his filmography will be able to tell you, makes bummers. Often confrontational bummers about really horrible self-absorbed people, but always with something to say, even if it requires a fair bit of work on the part of the viewer to figure that out.