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Under the Sun of Satan 1987
Really too much for its own good… Pialat’s insistence on elaborate hysterics robs this of the undeniable force it often possesses, so much so that it’s hard to describe the finished product as anything other than severely muddled rhythmically. Almost charming in its discursiveness, though. Honestly I guess I'm just a bit weak to this particular image of somnolent France, brick foyer gates, etc.; I find it hard to totally deny.
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