A young couple go to an estate agent to seek out their dream home. They encounter the almost robotic "Martin" who offers to show them their ideal residence - and so off go Imogen Poots and Jesse Eisenberg to inspect. They discover a typical detached house in the suburbs, surrounded by identical homes that leave them a bit cold. When their guide disappears, they decide to go home - except; they are caught in a labyrinthine network of streets that always brings them back to "No. 9". Soon, a baby in a box arrives and their happiness ought to be complete - except they have no other human contact and so slowly, but surely, start to go a bid mad. The kid has an infuriating habit of screaming loudly when he doesn't get what he wants - and I felt much like screaming myself as the cyclical pointlessness of this really dreary film did start to get on my nerves. Perhaps Lorcan Finnegan intended the potency of the sterility of the whole thing to engender a feeling of irritation from his audience; if he did then top marks. Otherwise, this is a total waste of the talents of two actors who could have found better ways to help us pass 100 minutes.