Reviews

You came to my city, walked in my steps, imagined the days without me—how lonely you must be.

Simone de Beauvoir saw immortality as a punishment from the heavens, while Woolf created an immortal character who lived a life full of color and depth.

Sally Potter's film is a work of extraordinary beauty, with layers of technical craftsmanship that are truly extraordinary. This feminist film stands alongside another rare gem in cinema history, Seni Seviyorum Rosa (1992) by Turkish female director Isil Özgentürk. Interestingly, both films were made in 1992.

I genuinely loved it. The whole film has this unique vibe, like a needle hidden in a cotton ball. On the surface, everything feels gentle and slow—the camera work, the soundtrack, the dialogue, even the action. But underneath, there’s so much tension, with clear character conflicts and layers of hidden contradictions. It’s really fascinating.

This movie left me feeling guilty, and when someone asked what I watched, I struggled to explain. But it’s absolutely beautiful, like a work of art crafted with pure heart and soul.

The cinematography in this film is absolutely stunning. There were moments where I couldn’t believe it was made in the 1950s. Despite the technical limitations of the time, Hitchcock managed to use creative angles and color to achieve incredibly realistic effects. This kind of imagination is something Hollywood sorely lacks today. On top of that, the film’s clever suspense-building and witty dialogue were a delight. Even the male protagonist’s wardrobe and the female lead’s striking elegance left a lasting impression.

The lead actress was so beautiful that I almost forgot I was watching a Hitchcock movie. The princess was stunning, with classic and gorgeous features. The whole film felt like a scenic tour of southern France. The last eight minutes are the only part that gets even slightly intense, but it’s still a classic.

This movie is incredible—better than many other Hitchcock films. The fact that it unfolds in such a small room for over 80 minutes without ever feeling dull is a testament to Hitchcock's brilliant direction. When Rupert describes the imaginary scene, the camera glides from one object to the next, leaving the audience to fill in the gaps with their own imagination. It’s a masterful approach to storytelling that’s truly impressive.

Hitchcock's use of 10 long takes is nothing short of breathtaking.

This is one of the rare Hitchcock films without murder or conspiracy. The so-called "suspicion" is nothing more than imagination—or, as Hitchcock cheekily points out in the film, something dreamed up by detective novelists.

Criticizing the ending of this movie feels unfair. Let’s not forget that Hitchcock, new to Hollywood, was navigating the pressures of both the studio system and the constraints of the Hays Code. Still, the director’s mastery shines in the latter half: Fontaine trembling in the cage-like shadows cast by window bars and stair railings, and Grant lurking in the darkness, are truly suffocating. The film is steeped in suspense at every turn.

The deduction is solid, and the stage design is spot on. Hitchcock has cleverly combined experimental and entertaining elements. However, I doubt any country would release death row prisoners just the day before their execution. It's just a small flaw though.

It’s an imperfect murder, but a perfect suspense film, though the sheriff’s final decryption is a bit draggy. No matter how much time has passed, this movie still pulls you in completely and makes it impossible to look away.

Although the director called the film a failure, it turned out to be a huge success. He probably set the bar too high for himself. The color changes in the film aren’t just visual changes; they also mirror the progression of the story, which adds an extra layer of depth.

Rebecca never physically appears, yet she seems to control the fate of every character, becoming an inescapable nightmare haunting their deepest thoughts. The story has plenty of twists and turns, with the truth remaining elusive. The suspense is masterfully built and the pacing draws you in, coupled with the irresistible charm of black-and-white films. While it may not be the typical Hitchcock-style film—and the director himself had reservations about it—it’s undeniably a classic.

It’s tightly paced and definitely entertaining, but the killer is just so boring and pretentious. By the end, I honestly wanted to take him out myself.

Intense, thrilling, and full of conflict —all these elements get tangled up in a small telephone booth. Stories that unfold in a single scene are often the most thrilling ones because, without scene changes, the only way to keep people engaged is through a well-told story. And this film absolutely nails that.

It’s clear this script was rushed out by an overly ambitious Shyamalan. While Unbreakable and Split had their structural flaws, they managed to fill in the plot holes. This sequel, however, is completely stuck in a logical black hole. The visuals and sound design don't match the appeal of the first two films either, and the whole thing feels rushed and slapped together.

I just can’t appreciate the awkward stitching of three stories here.

It took me half a day to get through half of Antoine's life; I felt as if I'd aged alongside him. Honestly, love is the most ordinary thing, trampled on by everyone like it’s nothing—full of deception, self-delusion, and irrationality. And yet, I know I’d still cherish it.