With Jonny Greenwood’s fractured rhythm of sticks, stones, and instruments, Bob Ferguson is just drugged up and high out of his mind, slowly dragging his broken self through a whirlwind of chaotic revolution. He’s propelled by the fatherly love for his daughter, angrily shouting at the phone because his fried brain can’t remember any of the passcodes.
When Bob finally gets a glimmer of hope in the shape of a gun and a rendezvous point, he pumps his fist up…