Nicolas Roeg's compact, stark art-house drama of scarring psychology and war-torn politics is a thoroughly complex and novel narrative, but not entirely a rewarding exercise in how they patch the two themes together. The revolution of Bucharest that's happening in the streets stays mostly in the background (we get stock footage snippets), to only interrupt when necessary in the paths of the characters' self-reflection of their desire for affection and the corrupted truth of obsessive domination. I wouldn't call it one of Roeg's most arresting work in a visual sense, as his directorial display seems to be quite forward and even subdue in a small-scale production. Honestly it can look quite ugly, but this could be on purpose due to the compulsively cold context to insert that prominent imprisonment tone. Hans Zimmer's soaring music score choicely paints a brooding, and occasionally titillating scent that accordingly inter-cuts with underlining emotions and on-screen events. On this occasion he decides to feed off the dialogue driven story (based upon Stephen Dobyns' novel "The Two Deaths of Senora Puccini"), and the verbally personal play off between the well-etched characters, which can be uncomfortable and unpleasant in its passionate chains of actions revealing sexual hunger, pain and twisted tragedy. Roeg is not one to shy away from erotic seduction and empowerment, and here it's the main driving force up to its stunningly moving climax of Roeg's trademark craftsmanship. The textured performances are thoughtfully portrayed to perfection by the likes of a marvellous Michael Gambon and a gracefully enigmatic Sonia Braga. In support are admirably concise turns by Patrick Malahide, Ion Caramitru and Nickolas Grace.