This one's a tough cookie, but if you're clued up on the synopsis, you probably already knew that.

António Campos' Christine is not for the faint of heart; it may not be especially violent on the surface, but it does provoke a distinct, yet omnipresent feeling of malaise throughout, like a feedback loop that's not quite loud enough to make you cover your ears, but loud enough to make you feel nauseated.

Don't expect it to be fast-paced either; Campos' take on '70s TV reporter Christine Chubbuck's life (and death) is the kind of biopic that seems suspended in mid-air, yet it's the fragility of this approach that enables the spectator to connect with what's happening on the screen.

Christine is a film about loneliness and depression that doesn't fall foul of customary clichés commonly used to portray mental health issues. By showing us everything in sort of a blur -- the doctor's appointment, the Baltimore vacancy announcement, even the fatal shot -- the film allows for a sense of unheimlich: a dense white fog to install itself between what is shown to us and what we end up perceiving.

Rebecca Hall's performance is superb, and pretty much steals the entire movie; she is brilliant in balancing the apparent normality and unbearable pain that coexists within the character, incarnating the late reporter in an almost scary way. This allied to a retro-coloured cinematography -- albeit not in the way it could become too imposing and prevent us from fully immersing in the narrative -- sends the mind into a constant buzz (the feedback noise I mentioned earlier) that disturbs us on an almost subconscious level.

Yes, Christine is incredibly violent and disturbing, but in a veiled kind of way; contrary to what you might have thought, this isn't a film about work-related stress or gender discrimination (although it does touch on these issues) - it's about despair and isolation, not necessarily from others but from your own self. As the film progresses you feel increasingly suffocated, yet the relief brought about by the climax inundates you with guilt. It's a profound commentary on the human condition.