Diogo Serafim’s review published on Letterboxd:
Singing a threnody of love and violence. A fractured, heavily adorned and deeply tortured opera. Sparks’ campy excess could make Carax’s convulsive style feel too disproportionate, but they actually work together more in a manner of intensifying the director’s more masochistic tendencies than they do with bloating his formal inventiveness. The unrestrained maximalism is there, but more as a means of exorcism than as a means of spectacle, the film’s scattershot structure may feel disjointed but it is very much part of its point. In the end, it’s all just broken dolls and resonating melodies. It’s just performance. Isn’t it?