When word got out that Brad Pitt was filming in Glasgow for World War Z it raised a few eyebrows, but that was about it. After all, Brad Pitt looks like he can handle himself.

But then they decided to send Hollywood starlet Scarlett Johansson onto the streets of Glasgow. This just sounded like a recipe for disaster. Of course Johansson came out of the experience unscathed, bar her well-kept secret addiction to deep-fried choccy bars. It's just a pity that the time spent that side of the border was for a project as dire as this one.

There's every chance this will get under a dermatological layer or two.

After a biker dude returns from a ride with a female body, the clothes she was wearing are passed onto a young, attractive woman (Johansson).

Said attractive woman then begins to drive a white van around the streets of Glasgow. She stops not to attempt to flog speakers, but to ask men a few questions. If they have no family or girlfriends, she invites them into the van with her. Clearly expecting some rumpy pumpy, they are sorely mistaken when they arrive at their final destination.

After a while, she gets a little bored with this – who wouldn't – and decides to go on another search on her own, possibly looking for the answers to some heavy duty questions.

Actress Scarlett Johansson appears to take her responsibility for promoting the Robot dance from a seated position very seriously.

It doesn't take long into this film for you to realise that it's going to be... well, different. And by different, we mean pretentious as hell. This film is nothing more than an overlong art project; you know the type, often found in galleries where you have to walk through a light trap to access it, fumbling around in the dark to find a seat. Images are projected onto the screen, sounds attack your senses, and it's supposed to be such a profound experience. Or perhaps it would be if you could keep awake for the duration.

With very little dialogue, we see Johansson's character pick up a number of Scottish gentlemen and take them back to her place, which perhaps is a Tardis since the inside is definitely bigger than the outside. Johansson starts to undress. They start to undress. There looks like there might be some sexy time on the cards. But no, they get sucked up in some black goo. And not in a good way. It transpires that Johansson is an alien. Obviously if aliens do walk amongst us, they're going to look like Johansson, and walk around in their pants a lot, because as everyone knows, aliens are threatened by the cool crisp feel of polyester on their flesh.

The film desperately wants to be seen as an allegory for what it means to be human. Invariably the answer is the same throughout – Johansson in her underwear. There's no doubt that may be true for a certain section of the audience, but there's a chance there may well be more to life than that.

It's the kind of title that certain critics will get giddy about, just for the sake of getting giddy. But don't be fooled. It's nothing short of wank. 'Nonsense,' they cry, 'did you not feel the pain of alien Johansson as she struggled with the concept of humanity?' Wank. 'Or see the obvious femme fatale nature of her character come slowly to the surface?' Wank.

Wank. Wank. Wank.

And to add insult to injury, boring wank at that. Director Jonathan Glazer (Sexy Beast, Birth) missed a trick with this film, big time, as the story of Johansson flogging speakers from the back of her white van on the streets of Glasgow would have been far more preferable watch. And she could have still done it in her underwear to boot.

Kudos to Johansson though, for being courageous enough to embrace a project a fair distance outside of her creative safe zone. It's just a shame it was so esoteric. And by that, of course, we mean wank.