Kindertotenlieder, with jagging notes

High-contrast photography, in stark black-and-white, combined with the fequent use of close shots, underscore the stifling atmosphere in the apartment. Deep focus shows the grains and textures of the wallpaper, enhancing the claustrophobia of the childless, middle-aged household. So does the soundtrack: the dreary economy of words in the dialogues, long, uncomfortable pauses in conversation, and the deliberate absence of any sort of music.

The acting is first-class. The earnestness of Billy reflects the anxiety of a man with little imagination. But Kim Stanley surely dominates the film's mood: made sado-machstic by tragedy and loneliness, she is by turns manipulative and vulnerable. Her eyes fix with a mesmerizing gaze, not kindly, nor attractive, but curiously sexual and strangely hypnotizing. The closed space and palpable claustrophobia, under which the couple lives, creates a feeling of mutual dependence through a shared despair and enjoined insecurity; a weird camaraderie, even though there is little sign of phyisical or emotional intimacy.

One would class this with Polanski's earlier film, "Repulsion". A beautifully-crafted mood piece, but one still wonders, in service to what? One "meaning" short of a great movie.