Reviews

Why were so many reviewers (and viewers, presumably) so disappointed by the end of Salvo and Livia's long-running, long-distance, and increasingly boring relationship. It was past due to be put out of its misery. And, to correct one reviewer, the actress who played the character with whom Salvo suddenly (but not inexplicably) falls in love wasn't 44 when the episode was released. She (Greta Scarano) was 37, to Luca Zingaretti's 60. (The 44-year-old actress, Antonia Truppo, played the murderess.) It is quite understandable that a character mired in a boring relationship would jettison it for the promise of an exciting one.

As for the plot of the episode, which many reviewers also criticize, I found it no more arcane or implausible than the plots of many of the other episodes in the series. The murdered character, Carmelo Catalanotti, was as believable as the villain of any melodrama. The plot of the episode was no more convoluted or unbelievable than the plots of many other episodes.

This enjoyable series -- and its prequel, The Young Montalbono -- delivered many an enjoyable evening's viewing. The end -- or was it the beginning? -- seemed just right to me.

Whatta boring waste of talent. This is a throwback to the "psychological westerns", of which there was only one worth watching: High Noon. The borefest opens with an unexplained encounter between Ciarin Hinds and Emily Blunt at an abandoned hotel that is, as she says, in the middle of nowhere. No other buildings are in sight. How could there be a hotel without a general store, a livery stable, and a saloon? Why are they meeting? Why does he want to kill her? How does she know that he wants to kill her? And if she knows that, why did she show up there in the first place? All of that and more happens at a snail's pace, which I meant to be meaningful, I suppose, but it's not. It's just boring. As is the dialog, which reminds me of Last Year at Marienbad -- the most boring film of all time.

Women got the vote (in the U.S. and UK) about 100 years ago. Why is this an issue now? Couldn't the producers of this barely entertaining film have come up with a better hook on which to hang the plot? Stopping a serial killer or foiling a heist of the Bank of England, for example. The only redeeming value of this film is the presence of a semi-grownup Millie Bobby Brown who isn't bleeding from the nostrils. The actor who plays Mycroft Holmes is too small by far for the part. And the writers portray a Sherlock Holmes who lacks the perception and wit of the classic character. Enola's asides to the audience are meant to be cute -- and even funny, perhaps -- but they are neither. So, this is a film to see if your taste runs to irrelevant "message" movies.

This film is a propaganda piece for Francis's left-wing ministry. It doesn't faithfully represent Benedict's efforts to combat sexual abuse by Catholic priests, Benedict's real reason for stepping down (poor health, and nothing more), or the relationship between Benedict and Francis, which is strained.

This film is set at Christmastime in a remote village in Quebec, the main adornment of which is the mountainous pile of dirt at an asbestos mine.

The story starts with Jos Poulin at the mine. Jos doesn't like the job, so he quits and goes to work at a logging camp. Jos doesn't like that job either, so he wanders home.

In the meantime there's Benoit, a 15 year old who lives with his Uncle Antoine and Aunt Cecile. Antoine and Cecile own the general store, and Antoine is also the local undertaker. Antoine and Cecile employ a clerk named Fernand, who is also the undertaker's assistant. They also employ a girl of about 15 named Carmen, who lives with them. Her father drops by on payday to collect Carmen's pay. Carmen seem to be an unhappy person. She and Benoit lust after each other, but nothing comes of it.

Benoit is an altar boy. He drinks from the bottle of communion wine, then he watches the priest do the same thing, so that's okay.

On Christmas Eve, Jos's oldest son, Marcel, dies. Jos doesn't know this because he's still slogging home from the logging camp. Antoine goes to fetch the body, but he takes Benoit instead of Fernand with him for no discernible reason other than to allow Cecile to play Cougar to Fernand. So she does. And they do.

Antoine and Benoit set out by horse-drawn sleigh to collect Marcel's body. Although it's the late 1940s (or the late 1960s, judging by the shortness of Carmen's dress), Antoine doesn't seem to have an automobile. But if he had one the main even of the film wouldn't have happened, and the film would be more pointless than it is.

The main event is this: After arriving at the Poulin house with the pine box for Marcel's body, Marcel's mother offers Antoine and Benoit a meal, of which Antoine partakes in a rather crude fashion -- grunting and belching all the while. Oh, he's also drinking from the 1.5 litre bottle of grappa (or something more lethal) that he brought along for the trip.

Antoine and Benoit get Marcel's body into the pine box and onto the back of the sleigh. And off they go, as Antoine continues to chug the bottle of grappa. When Antoine falls asleep (or into a semi-comatose state), Benoit decides to liven things up by stirring the horse into action. Now the thing that I expected to happen does happen. The pine box containing Marcel's body slides off the back of the sleigh.

Benoit brings the sleigh to a halt about 100 feet from the box. After pounding on Antoine to bring him to half-awakeness, they trudge to the box, which Antoine is unable to budge because his muscles have turned to mush after so many oral doses of grappa. He cries about his wasted life.

Antoine and Benoit return to the store -- which, cozily, is also where Antoine, Cecile, Benoit, Carmen, and Fernand live. Benoit, of course, opens the door to Cecile's boudoir to find Fernand there. Some muttering (but no violence) ensues before Fernand and Benoit set off to retrieve the box. Benoit, amazingly and despite the remarkable event that has just befallen him, can't remember which of two possible routes to follow back to the box.

Well, it doesn't matter. Because they eventually arrive back at the Poulin house, sans box, which has somehow transported itself into the Poulin's parlor. There, the wandering Jos and his family are kneeling around the open box, staring at the dead Marcel. And wondering, no doubt, why the hell they agreed to act in such a pointless film.

But maybe they knew that it would someday be voted the best Canadian film of all time. I'd hate to see the second-best one.

What a waste of a great cast. Well, "great" certainly describes Gerard Depardieu, who has "grown" as an actor -- from hulking menace to parade float. Depardieu's appearance is the funniest thing about this lame paean to women's lib. The film's fleeting moments of humor and barbed dialogue led me to watch the whole thing, in the vain hope that it would amount to something. (Thus my "2" rating; I reserve "1" for films that are so bad, so early, that I can't finish them.) As for Catherine Deneuve, the best that one can say about her performance is that she looks only as old as her character, a woman of about 50, even though she was 66 when the film was shot. Anyway, when it was time for a dramatic or funny climax, building on some aspect of the film's almost non-existent plot, Deneuve puts an end to the misery by singing (badly) a feminist anthem that celebrates the "soft" qualities that women bring to politics -- or some such tripe.