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This movie contains all the ingredients that make up a perfect film by Claude Chabrol: murder and intrigue unfolding behind the facades of the bourgeoisie. Too bad, it was directed by Michael Verhoeven.
The story lacks irony and tempo. It drags on with only a few compelling scenes. What could have been a German variation on Chabrol's malicious little dramas, turns out to be a hollow nut.
The inept golfer played by Friedrich von Thun stands emblematically for the entire project: Verhoeven sees the target, but fails miserably in delivering the desired result.
Plus: Mario Adorf gives his usual stiff performance. He must be suffering from a severe paralysis of his facial muscles. Qualtinger and Flickenschildt's charisma is not enough to save this disaster movie.
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