Richard Roud's review in the Guardian pretty much nails this but to sum up:
Guy who is a massive cunt discovers a murder in his photographs (this takes a full hour to get to). Instead of getting to investigate the crime he ends up having to investigate the nature of reality and the world around him, RIP to that bloke who died but we've got bigger questions to deal with here.
Unfortunately the film gets very bogged in all that Swinging London bollocks and could easily have lost 45 minutes. I liked the ending though.
