Crippled from the start by really terrible direction from Sturridge. It looks like a PBS show from the early 90s.

It's beautifully shot, but at the end of the day it suffers from the same failing as most Beckett: it thinks it's far more profound than it is, and the obfuscatory nature of the text makes it very hard to get any kind of involvement out of the experience. Irons does his best with what he has, but it could never be enough.