The movie's elaborately failed closure only makes sense once you understand that the filmmaker's all-too-human desire for self-justification apparently trumped the ruthless self-control required to make a work of art.

Keep the Lights On acknowledges (without belaboring) the performative nature of identity; how each of our claims to selfhood, be it sexual, romantic, or professional, are staged on a shifting terrain of habit, fantasy, and desire.

There's a lot to like here, and if you're a traditionalist who hungers for a happy ending, you'll find it embedded in the opening credits.

Keep the Lights On stands as a heart-wrenching arch, oozing with amiable authenticity in slices of life too often shied away from on screen.