A free-wheeling pinku homage to Rear Window may seem a surprising start for Kurosawa, but it establishes a lot of the oddball charm that would later find its way to wonders like Doppelganger. Even if not much coheres—the leads’ characterization remains as flat as any pink film—it’s such a spirited, brisk romp that there’s little reason to complain.
Bardem gives a monosyllabic performance of few words and much overwrought hysteria. A great chunk of the running time is devoted to dysfunctional suffering and passive facial grimaces. After an hour of this tedium, you stop worrying about where this disaster is going, or if it’s going anywhere at all. In the end credits, 28 producers are listed for an 85-minute film that doesn’t appear to have even had one.
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