Every now and again a film like Institute Benjamenta comes along which seems to have the sole purpose of testing the endurance of its audience to the limit. I saw it at the home of art-house cinema in the UK, the Institute of Contemporary Arts in London, and was intrigued to notice that even here, where it could reasonably expect a sympathetic viewing, over half of the (small) audience decamped to the bar well before it ground to a close. I stuck it out to the end only because my companion seemed riveted, but it turned out she was hanging on grimly thinking I was similarly entranced! Mark Rylance (a wonderful actor) goes through the film with the expression of a mildly startled rabbit on his face, as if he couldn't quite believe what he had got himself into - neither could I.