The film is by and large a conspicuously manufactured thriller that moves between manipulative psych-outs.
The film’s segregated world hints at a town’s (and country’s) racial tensions without actually examining them.
It was a shame that no special anniversary prize was created and bestowed on The Wandering Soap Opera.
Director François Ozon is never willing to fully engage with the ridiculousness of his material, resulting in an uneasy mix of wry distance and unearned emotion.
Filmmaker Michel Gondry bungles his adaptation of the Boris Vian novel by indulging in homespun craftwork at the expense of plot and character detail.
Cédric Klapisch’s film becomes an effervescent variation on the time-honored story of striking out for the American dream.
Candy-colored to a potentially cavity-causing degree, the film is a bubbly regurgitation of retrograde romantic comedy tropes and reactionary sexual politics.
It suggests, rather compellingly, that abandoning lofty pipedreams for middle-class comfort is a crime less forgivable than murder.
It substitutes the original’s bleak psychosexual head games and emasculated machismo with a more straightforward tale of one man’s warring allegiances to his father and mother.