A man arrives in purgatory, eager to learn his eternal fate.
The divine judgement, however, is slow to arrive.
The minutes turn to hours, the hours turn to days, and the days begin to blur together in a place where time has no meaning.
Eventually, after what feels to him like a hundred years, the man begs for a verdict.
“What are you talking about?” comes the reply.
“You’ve been in hell since you got here.”That grim parable is told to Georg (“Happy End” breakout Franz Rogowski) roughly halfway into Christian Petzold’s “Transit,” and yet the poor bastard doesn’t seem to realize that it’s about him.
The inscrutable hero of an inscrutable film that unfolds like a remake of “Casablanca” as written by Franz Kafka, Georg has just escaped occupied Paris by the skin of his teeth, stowing away on a train to the port of Marseille.
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