This has to be David Cronenberg's most impenetrable film, a surreal, mainly bizarre part biographical and part phantasmagorical adaptation of the life and work of William S. Burroughs. Films that delve into writer's and their creative processes can be dull and maudlin affairs and, for me, this was no exception. An hallucinatory journey through the warped and drug addled mind of an author, Bill Lee (Peter Weller), who because of writers block has taken up a job as a bug exterminator in 1950s New York. He and his wife, Joan (Judy Davis) have become hooked on the bug powder he uses to kill cockroaches and after Bill stupidly kills her he finds himself recruited by a strange insect like creature and sent to a North African country where he encounters talking typewriters, weird insect like creatures and.....God knows what's going on? Cronenberg dishes out scenes that gross you out while there's lots of inane talking in a narrative that made little sense. Some of the events are based on real ones in Burrough's life but this film is neither biopic or fantasy story and consequently it's rendered meaningless. I'm sure this has it's fans but it's just a pretentious load of twaddle as far as I'm concerned.