There is almost no reason why, on paper, A Ghost Story should work. David Lowery’s fourth feature centers on the ghostiest kind of ghost – the bedsheet-with-eyeholes-cut-out variety. Its aesthetic is characterized by long takes and even longer silences. (At one point, we literally watch paint dry.) It’s a deeply, near-cosmically sad portrait of loss and dislocation across time and space, populated by figures and moments that should be comic instead.