This is an altogether creepy replication of the inner states of mind that perpetuate themselves in class society. The notion that one should submit to all sorts of violent and humiliating forms of inner degradation which rob you of your life in order to support your family is experienced, in conventional society, as “the reality principle”. The vulgar, self-indulgent and pointless, political, power-trip sadism of the bosses — who are significantly, in this movie, decadent and repulsive, old, rich white men — is reproduced with force. But then, it’s a familiar scene to anyone familiar with certain religious doctrines: the father gives the son the power to do a miracle or two during his last days; but demands the ultimate sacrifice, this time, not on a cross; but a medieval looking torture chair, looking very much like a tool from some forgotten Inquisition. Indeed, the seller must pay the price of the sale, even it that seller is a miserable wage-slave trying to create a little temporary happiness in a garbage strewn world, gone to the dogs.
The problem with this movie is that it makes you feel more than a bit ill inside and out. You know, at some level, that a parent’s sacrificial lamb-like suicide for their child will not help to give their kids a life but will emotionally destroy the next generation and on adinfinitum, by leaving most of humanity with an internal psychological scar and legacy which is masochism.