Audrey Tatou, the jug-eared gamine of Amélie, the new Geneviève Bujold, appears to have here a role to bring out all of her demented pertness: an over-the-moon loon patiently waiting for her adored cardiologist to dump his pregnant wife and give his heart to her alone. We soon begin to see that there is much more going on in her mind than in reality, and she seems to be heading round the bend too early in the movie: the pace seems rushed. (Where can we go from here?) But then we see why: the course is only about half as long as we thought it was. And when the heroine turns on the gas and lies down on the kitchen floor after just three-quarters of an hour, the movie goes abruptly into high-speed rewind all the way back to the beginning, and proceeds to cover the same ground again from the point of view of the cardiologist (Samuel Le Bihan). It is at that point that things really get interesting: we did not know, quite precisely, the half of it. But a movie -- the first feature of Laetitia Colombani -- that waits till the halfway point to become interesting is only half a movie. The fault is not in the structure; it's in the embellishment. Then again, half a movie is more of a movie than most. (2002) — Duncan Shepherd
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