Although handsomely realised, this is a strangely unmoving and unconvincing film that dips its toe into the shallows of psycho-drama, but never goes anywhere near exploring them with any degree of certainty or conviction. Instead we have a series of motifs and set pieces that are mounted with great skill but reveal a central problem with the film: ravishing technical accomplishments almost glued together with a sticking plaster of a narrative. After all, what I remember of the film long after seeing it is the gorgeous widescreen composition, the colour palette and the almost symphonic swellings of the score. What confronts me when re-viewing the film is an often static and frequently unconvincing story, floridly realised on a scale the slim plot-threads cannot entirely stand (the sub-story with Mitch whimpers out and never returns, which is a shame), and is hampered by a somewhat stodgy middle section. It gets by with its sheer directorial verve and confidence, but the great moments – and there are plenty of them – are nearly all visual frissions and not the cod-psychological themes of obsession, madness and fetishism (even this is quite reticent) that tend to float on the surface of an otherwise rollicking pot-boiler.