A fake coal miner and fake novelist meets a fake French sophisticate in Venice, filmed by a fake expatriate director, using real locales (the canal, hotel rooms, casino tables). I did get a fair amount of pleasure from this, all coming from the two leads: Stanley Baker breaking into Welsh folksongs at the oddest moments, and showing his obsessive love for Eva all the way through, and Jeanne Moreau, more composed and more interesting than she had been for Truffaut in Jules et Jim. Gianni di Venanzo's camera work is superb; it's almost another actor in the story. I don't go all the way with Joseph Losey; I've found his style of story telling is just too contrived, whether he's in Hollywood, or England or here in Venice.
