I wish Depardieu had been able to finish his book and see it become a dazzling success. At least he'd have wound up with something that would interest and perhaps comfort others. We all know that, outside of a dog, a book is a man's best friend. Inside a dog it's too dark to read.
The film struck me as pointless, rambling, and very stylish, like some other recent French films. Not to knock it. Most recent American films are pointless and rambling and have no style whatever. We should be grateful, I suppose, for photography that evokes a European city in the midst of a wind-blown Continental winter, and for elliptical conversations that challenge our ability to understand what's up.
But there can be too much of a good thing. Golubeva is found stumbling around near the sea in the middle of the freezing night, carrying on in a bad accent about dreams and such. (There are a few sequences of dreams that include things like swimming in a river of blood. You'll love it if you're Vlad the Impaler.) Lots of people die. Catherine Deneuve dies in a suicide by motorcycle. I don't know why. Golubeva's young girl dies too, and I don't know why she dies either. She gets slapped in the face, falls to the pavement, and dies.
There is supposedly an explicit sex scene too. I'll have to take their word for it because, although it is stylishly photographed, it is stylishly photographed in almost complete darkness. Don't worry about the kiddies being shocked. They'll probably be asleep by this time anyway.
Depardieu isn't a bad actor. As we see him deteriorate from a carefully groomed handsome young man -- well, handsome except that his nose can't seem to get out of his way -- to a limping, murderous, hairy physical wreck, we feel sorry for the guy. Golubeva has a wan pretty face, with enormous half-lidded eyes and wide cheeks, like a doll. Her next movie should be a remake of Lewton's "I Walked With a Zombie." Then there is this mysterious guy who leads a band. I guess it's a band. As far as I could make out, the band is made up of about a dozen drummers and a dozen musicians playing electric guitars. Every viewer will find the resultant sound interesting but uncultivated listeners fond of "easy listening" might not enjoy it. If you don't like the music, there's a payoff involved because the sinister composer and leader gets whacked over the head with Depardieu's walking stick.
I must say, I found it barely worth sitting through. (And it's a longie, too.) At times it was like waiting in your car at a railroad crossing while a long long freight train rumbles slowly by, sometimes stopping entirely. I wish it had had a few jokes.
The film struck me as pointless, rambling, and very stylish, like some other recent French films. Not to knock it. Most recent American films are pointless and rambling and have no style whatever. We should be grateful, I suppose, for photography that evokes a European city in the midst of a wind-blown Continental winter, and for elliptical conversations that challenge our ability to understand what's up.
But there can be too much of a good thing. Golubeva is found stumbling around near the sea in the middle of the freezing night, carrying on in a bad accent about dreams and such. (There are a few sequences of dreams that include things like swimming in a river of blood. You'll love it if you're Vlad the Impaler.) Lots of people die. Catherine Deneuve dies in a suicide by motorcycle. I don't know why. Golubeva's young girl dies too, and I don't know why she dies either. She gets slapped in the face, falls to the pavement, and dies.
There is supposedly an explicit sex scene too. I'll have to take their word for it because, although it is stylishly photographed, it is stylishly photographed in almost complete darkness. Don't worry about the kiddies being shocked. They'll probably be asleep by this time anyway.
Depardieu isn't a bad actor. As we see him deteriorate from a carefully groomed handsome young man -- well, handsome except that his nose can't seem to get out of his way -- to a limping, murderous, hairy physical wreck, we feel sorry for the guy. Golubeva has a wan pretty face, with enormous half-lidded eyes and wide cheeks, like a doll. Her next movie should be a remake of Lewton's "I Walked With a Zombie." Then there is this mysterious guy who leads a band. I guess it's a band. As far as I could make out, the band is made up of about a dozen drummers and a dozen musicians playing electric guitars. Every viewer will find the resultant sound interesting but uncultivated listeners fond of "easy listening" might not enjoy it. If you don't like the music, there's a payoff involved because the sinister composer and leader gets whacked over the head with Depardieu's walking stick.
I must say, I found it barely worth sitting through. (And it's a longie, too.) At times it was like waiting in your car at a railroad crossing while a long long freight train rumbles slowly by, sometimes stopping entirely. I wish it had had a few jokes.