Luna, decidedly shocking, lurid, and unsavory as it can be, is not so easily dismissed as “monstrous, cheap, vulgar rubbish,” as a horrified Andrei Tarkovsky once termed it . . . [Cinematographer Vittorio Storaro] is perhaps more careful and measured than his director, lending a sort of tangibility to Bertolucci’s often oblique, contradictory emotional ranges with a diurnal, hot/cold vacillation of colors and uncannily precise mise-en-scene.
July 27, 2011