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Cult Review
Senior Film Conservator
Look, if you’re into the kind of cinema that feels like it was pulled out of an attic trunk—dust and all—then yeah, give it a go. It’s definitely for the crowd that appreciates slow, stagey acting and long, lingering shots of people just thinking about their problems. If you need a plot that moves faster than a turtle in mud, you are going to hate this. Stay far away.
The whole thing feels oddly fragile. Like if you breathed too hard on the projector, the film might just crumble into gray powder. It’s got that specific 1920s French gloom that feels both incredibly specific and totally alien at the same time.
There’s a scene about halfway through where someone is standing by a window, and the light hits their face in this way that makes them look like a ghost even before they’ve done anything sad. It’s haunting, I guess? Or maybe just bad lighting. It’s hard to tell, but it stuck with me.
Compared to something punchier like Moulin Rouge, this movie is practically a funeral procession. It doesn't have that frantic energy. It just sits there, waiting for you to catch up to its sadness.
Blanchar is doing a lot of work with his eyebrows. Like, an excessive amount. Every time he enters a room, you know exactly how miserable he is without him saying a single word. It’s a bit much, but hey, it’s theatre, right? 🎭
It reminds me a bit of the heavy-handed drama you see in The Supreme Temptation, where everyone is carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. Everyone looks like they haven’t slept since the Great War. It’s exhausting, but in a weirdly compelling way.
I found myself wondering if anyone actually talks like these people, or if they just exist in a permanent state of dramatic revelation. Probably the latter. It’s not a masterpiece, but it’s a time capsule. Just don't expect it to change your life or anything.