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A biopic that most critics have admired, but, in my opinion, except the beautiful photography and costumes what is presented to the spectator is an artist from which we'll just know his grin and grunt,and some grandiloquent phrases about painting. He and people around him are described grotesquely and only so. In one of the scenes a pig is prepared to be eaten and this perhaps is a summary of the life of Turner and the other painters in the story, according to Mike Leigh, who also wrote the script. He has built the film with a series of scenes which with some variations are essentially a repetition of the same behavior. Leigh has given to the natural landscapes more relevance than to the paintings by Turner,and it seems that the daily life of the artist was more interesting than his work. Two hours and a half are too much to suffer a wrong conception of one of the most talented British directors.

Horror is one of the unpleasant fellows of life in the films by Michael Haneke, and Amour is not an exception. But in this case horror is a characteristic of life more than a characteristic of human beings. With a theatrical pace that rarely has succeeded in bringing its quality to cinema like here, the director introduces the spectators to the tortured world of a couple at the end of their way, maintaining his camera at a suspected neutral distance. The movements of the actors, their voices, the light and shadows, the furniture, the pictures on the walls, the wrinkles in sheets, blankets and clothes create an atmosphere of inevitable decline that the two irruptions of the dove could not modify. The precise dialogs, the wise angles of vision, the long shots, the crude cuts of the editing, and sly management of the expected and unexpected, help to make Amour a film hard to forget.