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The kind of drama suggested by such a bombastic title is scrupulously avoided in Hellhole, from Belgian director Bas Devos. Even the reference to then-candidate Donald Trump's use of the word to describe the city of Brussels, through which the film prowls, has been replaced by so much Trumpian bluster, as non-Belgians may have a hard time establishing the Connection. And the connection itself is vaguely confusing, for while Devos' love for his city throbs beneath the Teflon camerawork, the sadness of his portrayal of a sleepwalking citizenry still reeling from the 2016 Brussels terror attacks it undermines any possible irony. This may not be a vision of hell, but it sure feels like purgatory. The attacks themselves are barely mentioned, though sometimes a character will talk about some pervasive fear, or a sleep disorder, or a recurring migraine, in such a way that we infer these are recent developments, symptoms of a newly acquired malaise in the city. In fact, a summary of th...