Amour ½

The world's most immature 70-year-old is half a century too late to discover the physical implications of dying, and the cinematic community is immediately regaled with this carcinogenic pile of medical waste which presents the viewer with the „heartbreak of filth“ in a cockatil of austere style, bourgeois family drama and a grim, naturalist depiction of death. Only instead of austere style there is only a slick and sterile prolonged gaze upon nothing (so tiresome in recent cinema); family drama is an alien's imitation of adult human interaction with all the self-awareness of Alan Partridge; but there is filth, death and decay galore for all the lovers of perverse, as Haneke depicts with joyful glee the disintegration of human body only to triumphantly declare that „only pain is real“ in the film's sole narrative movement, the final nihilistic coup de grâce.

The palsied simulacra of romantic gestures conjured up here serve merely as a strawman argument against human dignity, as all things noble are mercilessly defiled by incessant rivers of slime with self-satisfied chuckles and giggles echoing in the background.

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