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The funny thing about teen angst is that, while it’s excruciating to suffer through, it doesn’t inspire much sympathy. And Remote Control’s main character, Tsog, has more reason to sulk than the average adolescent: His dad’s a deadbeat alcoholic, his stepmom steals his wages, and he gets beat up when he travels from the Mongolian countryside to the city to sell milk. Still, when Tsog spies on a lonely woman through her apartment window and uses a universal remote to screw with her TV, it’s hard to feel bad for him when she doesn’t return his affections. Tsog is alone—or in his own head—for nearly half the film, which makes for a very slow, very quiet 90 minutes, and the only part that could possibly be considered a climax doesn’t come until the last scene. As a meditation on finding happiness through escapism, Remote Control isn’t bad, but given the choice, I would have changed the channel.