But all films must end, and in this case the sooner the better. Like the chattery mourners who gather round a sudden middle-aged widow, director Moshe Mizrahi "means well." He effuses sympathy like a burst dam, and poor Annie Girardot, who appears in every scene, has to act as if she deserves it: re-creating with her fist the indentation her husband used to leave in his now-vacant pillow, spurning a clumsy pass from her rodenty brother-in-law, picking up an anonymous billiard player to alleviate her sexual deprivation, etc., etc. The intensity of viewer emotion aroused cannot be mistaken as anything other than embarrassment, and thankfully this eventually tapers off into apathy. With Jean-Pierre Cassel and Pierre Dux. (1982) — Duncan Shepherd
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