A frothy fantasy dressed up as a quirky character study, Copacabana is a mishmash of mismatched parts that left me feeling a little queasy.
The film winds up operating according to a formula that’s as musty and conventional as they come.
At its more noticeable nadir, it’s a trite and partially incomprehensible ersatz-tragedy.
Throughout, the filmmakers find inventive ways to tell us just enough about the main characters’ backgrounds.
Fear(s) of the Dark trades in disturbing youthful memories and ghastly tactility.
The French super agent more or less repeats all of 007’s bad habits, only with his tongue planted so firmly in cheek he looks as if he’s hurting himself.
By quoting us on the front cover, TLA has allowed me to fantasize about myself as the fourth dancing slave. Thank you.
Three Dancing Slaves suggests a conspiracy of sexual exploit committed against a handsome cast of actors.
Jacques Audiard’s film is the optimistic flip-side to James Tobak’s Harvey Keitel-headlined Fingers.