An unusual, atmospheric murder mystery, written by the famous French writer Jean Giono, set in an isolated snowbound village where killing seems the only escape from boredom, and in which blood is the only source of colour. Memorable opening images of the lonesome rider approaching the village in the misty snowscape while Jacques Brel sings "Pourquoi faut-il que les hommes s'ennuyent?"

Полное атмосферы тайны, визуально завораживающее, но порядком непропеченное кино, которое явно смотрел Лоран Бутонна перед съемками "Джорджино". Философские рассуждения о тяге к убийству, имманентной человеческой натуре, подаются в виде раздражающе многозначительных, бессвязных диалогов, детективный сюжет схематичен, а финал при всей эффектности вызывает скорее смех. Самая близкая аналогия - значительно более удачный "Элемент преступления" фон Триера.

I was so looking forward to this one because I tend to love philosophical crime stories, especially when they're set in a remote mountain village covered with snow. But this was a disappointment.

Interesting movie that struggles with its pacing -- it tries to stay (fairly) true to Giono's novel, while also cutting that novel by more than half. It doesn't really work, but the film does benefit from strong performances and a good look.

I was so looking forward to this one because I tend to love philosophical crime stories, especially when they're set in a remote mountain village covered with snow. But this was a disappointment.

Adaptation frappante qui se débarasse de l'écriture gionienne pour devenir une unité certes redondante, tout de même grandiose.

Interesting movie that struggles with its pacing -- it tries to stay (fairly) true to Giono's novel, while also cutting that novel by more than half. It doesn't really work, but the film does benefit from strong performances and a good look.

Полное атмосферы тайны, визуально завораживающее, но порядком непропеченное кино, которое явно смотрел Лоран Бутонна перед съемками "Джорджино". Философские рассуждения о тяге к убийству, имманентной человеческой натуре, подаются в виде раздражающе многозначительных, бессвязных диалогов, детективный сюжет схематичен, а финал при всей эффектности вызывает скорее смех. Самая близкая аналогия - значительно более удачный "Элемент преступления" фон Триера.

Giono scrisse "Un re senza distrazioni" nel 1946, e lo sceneggiò per farlo diventare un film sotto la regia di Laterrier.
L'azione comincia in un pesino di montagna a metà Ottocento, quando quello che oggi chiameremmo un serial killer comincia a mietere vittime apparentemente senza motivo, per questo viene mandato il capitano Langlois ad indagare e risolvere il mistero.
Ma l'indagine poliziesca ben presto prende una svolta inaspettata e conduce a un'analisi filosofica ed esistenziale imprevista e brutale nella sua verità.
Consiglio di recuperare anche il libro(ovviamente ben più stratificato e ricco) da poco uscito per Guanda.

An intermittent, drearily lulling tune of a film that leaks in when you're sure you forgot it. Is it the red - as striking as that seen next to cadaverous pallor in Jean Fouquet’s Virgin & Child with Angels, here presumbably sole source of fun & color, mercurial blood flow which poisons and revolts at stagnancy, the Heraclitean liquid fire that irrigates the body & rises the soul against the apathetic hinterland? Or is it something of the amber-cast indoor bonhomie from Delvaux's Rendez-vous à Bray mixed with the outdoor unsettlement in Allio's masterpiece Moi, Pierre Rivière?... Very atmospheric and strewn with pensive yadda yadda, the beauty in this film is to be found in details, hardly in the whole.

A beautiful looking film that has such protenshal yet really does let down. Full of chunky dialogue that makes it hard to follow and keep interested. Such a shame as the snowy villiage has a great atmosphere and the story is appealing just poorly written for the screen.

An unusual, atmospheric murder mystery, written by the famous French writer Jean Giono, set in an isolated snowbound village where killing seems the only escape from boredom, and in which blood is the only source of colour. Memorable opening images of the lonesome rider approaching the village in the misty snowscape while Jacques Brel sings "Pourquoi faut-il que les hommes s'ennuyent?"