When the final credits roll at the end of Mister Lonely, you pinch yourself as reassurance that you weren't dreaming. It's a really odd experience. In the remote highlands of Scotland there is a commune of celebrity impersonators. They live in character, away from judgement. Marilyn Monroe, Michael Jackson, Charlie Chaplin, The Queen and others... they tend to the animals, maintain the castle they live in and spend their lives trapped in performance. It's one of those films that makes little sense and yet works well. The movie alternates between two unrelated stories; the aforementioned commune and then a missionary priest in South America (Werner Herzog) who witnesses a miracle. It's difficult to grasp the relevance of these two independent stories aside from the fact that one deals with identity and the other with faith. The movie has understandably alienated a lot of people. It's as equally loathed amongst audiences as it is loved. I'm one of the lovers. I find it challenging and having seen it three times, I find myself deeper in its enchantment with each viewing. What does it all mean? I don't know. Does it have something to say? Yes. What is it? Um... I'm still working on that one.