Is it me? Am I just overly cynical and jaded? Or is it patently absurd for Peggy to have ever agreed to see Francois again after they first meet, and for him to use the words "I miss you" after he's known her a total of, what, one day, and seen her twice? Moreover, while Francois is obviously written as a boorish oaf, and Alain Delon capably plays him as such, the tack is more obnoxious than it is entertaining, especially as it spills over into the broad tone of the film; I can never tell if this thriller is self-serious, or a parody. As if to emphasize the point, we're treated to a surprising amount of plot in the first quarter of the length, dispensed very casually - a narrative, with scene writing and dialogue, that's so melodramatic as to recall the most blustery B-movies of misunderstood U. S. network Lifetime. I'm not saying 'Les seins de glace' can't still be worthwhile such as it is, but however this looked when it was released in 1974, 49 years later the response it evokes isn't exactly what I think was intended.
Unfortunately, it doesn't get better. In fact, it gets much worse. The movie continues to throw ideas, story beats, and little moments at us that don't make any sense, or that pointedly confuse the tone it's trying to adopt - whatever that amorphous tone might be. I'm not impressed generally with what this pretends is "plot development"; how can I be, when I don't rightly know just from watching this what the plot even is? 'Les seins de glace' is terrible at establishing who characters are, not least those who are killed; the Who, What, Where, Why, and How are undetectable by modern science. I can't say I'm familiar with Richard Matheson's novel that this is supposedly based on, but I assume the notions unconvincingly represented here come from source material that's more solid and sensible. Presumably it's filmmaker Georges Lautner, directing from his own adapted screenplay, who has minced 'Someone is bleeding' into a form that rather comes across as a series of empty images and half-baked thoughts. Or maybe Matheson is responsible after all, and Lautner is surprisingly faithful. Maybe editor Michelle David has chopped up a cohesive, coherent tale into an indiscernible shape. I don't know. All I know is that this picture is astonishingly bad at communicating its narrative, let alone any feelings that a title of this ilk should conventionally impart. It comes close at multiple points to being laughably bad, but the storytelling is too scattered even to have fun at the feature's expense. For all this, furthermore, 105 minutes are agonizingly long, and it's impossible to care about the contributions of anyone else involved, cast or crew.
I sat to watch with no foreknowledge or expectations, as innocent as a newborn kitten. I'm altogether flummoxed by what this is. I recognize fractured pieces of what may have been a complete, compelling thriller, or alternatively, a comedy. As it stands, however, I just don't know what's going on here. I can't help but think of a remark I saw someone make, suggesting that modern audiences are too obsessed with plot and have forgotten how to just let a film be what it is, and have fun with it. Well, that sentiment is fine with action blockbusters, and flicks that are more about general vibes than a concrete plot, but if the heart and core of a film is the tale it's trying to weave, then plot is indeed essential. Suffice to say that no matter how you look at it, as far as I'm concerned 'Les seins de glace' is a hopeless mess. I will allow the possibility that I checked out too early from this hodgepodge and I never gave it a chance to recover, but even then I don't think that speaks well to the end result. I'm glad for those who get more out of this picture; I just don't know how they manage to do it. However you came across this, whatever your impetus for watching, there are countless other things you could and should be watching instead. Don't waste your time here.
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