The finest film ever made from a Cocteau script, but still unmistakably
Bresson: despite the use of professional players and literary
dialogue, it's as clear-eyed and chilling a portrait of malignity as
L'Argent. Maria Casarès is astonishing as the spurned woman
implementing a calculated revenge on her rival, but above all it's the
stylistic austerity that distinguishes the film. Bresson's
reiterative method creates patterns of images and motifs to chart the
implacable progress of Casarès' vengeance. A haunting vision
of sexual torment, finally redeemed in a last admission of saving love,
it remains an absolutely modern movie, and stunning viewing.
