If you haven't heard by now, Russian Ark, the new Russian/German collaboration directed by Alexander Sokurov, is an intriguing new film that was shot on digital video, in a single-take shot that literally floors you. It conveys an extraordinary amount of visual information, art history, political history and just plain cinematic "wow" over the course of its real-time 95 minutes.

Beautiful and elaborate, brilliant and pretentious, dreamy and nightmarish, Russian Ark has a story of almost disarming simplicity, staged with utmost complexity. A contemporary film director (heard only in voice) is joined by a 19th century French aristocrat in a time-travel tour de force through St. Petersburg's cavernous, ornate Hermitage Museum. The film unfolds like some sort of guided tour through the centuries, as the camera follows their journey back and forth, from room to room, seamlessly blending past and present, art and aristocracy, pomp and politics.

Reportedly requiring seven months of rehearsal, over 1,000 costumed actors and the spatial equivalent of 33 movie soundstages, the final film was shot with one digital video camera in 95 minutes. In the history of single-take cinematic excursions, including Rope and the classic opening shot of Orson Welles' A Touch of Evil, Russian Ark just might be the crowning technical achievement of 2002.

But now that we've gotten the technical novelty out of the way, we can talk about why Russian Ark, for all its technical bravado, doesn't emerge as anything much more than a beautiful, high brow stunt. For all its achievements, Russian Ark ultimately fails to connect us to any sort of identifiable humane interest, relying heavily on our ability to access its often remote subject matter, and with mixed results.

Russian Ark has been described in some circles as a brilliant, albeit esoteric experience. And for much of its duration, that might be the truth. It's certainly takes an immediate place in film history and will no-doubt be deconstructed, as it well should be, by film scholars and buffs alike for decades to come. But by the halfway point, I was yearning for something human to happen on the screen, something more than gazing introspectively at masterful paintings and eavesdropping silently on historical aristocratic figures.

There's a sequence at the end of the film that is enchanting, and it plays out for several minutes near the closing credits. It involves a royal wedding of sorts, and when the wedding breaks, the camera is placed in the crowd of attendees, in the hundreds, as they exit the building. We are privileged to walk amongst incredible costumes, overhear casual conversations and intermingle with the culture of another century and country. It goes on for a good ten minutes or so, and the effect is sublime.

At times during Russian Ark, I was reminded of the sets and art direction of British filmmaker Peter Greenaway, who along with the great cinematographer Sacha Vierney, often depicts deep-focus, ornate and beautifully art-directed compositions that feel like classic paintings. This film has that quality - beautifully lit and shot, cavernous sets that are a feast for the eye.

Whether or not you find Russian Ark to be anything more than an ornately staged experiment will have to do with your own personal patience for its considerably slow pace and directorial indulgences. First and foremost, it is a director's picture, and will no doubt never find a mainstream audience (often the sign of a good film). It's a film for movie lovers and film buffs, and indeed many audience members walked out scratching their heads, convinced they saw something, just not sure what.

A beautifully strenuous experience with a questionable payoff, that emerges more like a daring experiment in cinematography (or in this case, videography) that is as frustrating as it is fulfilling. In the end, Russian Ark is an experience for the mind, not the heart.