A little sickie (cough-cough) from Canada, about a funeral-parlor apprentice (the pale, pensive, Pre-Raphaelite Molly Parker) who cozies up, after hours, with the steady supply of handsome young well-conditioned male cadavers. It confirms our suspicions that necrophilia is a subject better approached obliquely, furtively, figuratively: Sleeping Beauty, Laura, Portrait of Jennie, The Brides of Dracula, Truly Madly Deeply, My Boyfriend's Back, Cold Heaven. Not to forget that treasure trove otherwise known as the oeuvre of Luis Buñuel: Un Chien Andalou, L'Age d'Or, Los Olvidados, Wuthering Heights, The Criminal Life of Archibaldo de la Cruz, Viridiana, The Exterminating Angel, Belle de Jour, et al. The striving, straining, would-be poetic, "elegantly" erotic tone affected by first-time director Lynne Stopkewich elevates the movie only to the plane of excruciating embarrassment, a little shy of unintended hilarity. The best to be said for it is that it lasts less than an hour and a quarter. (1997) — Duncan Shepherd
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