The pacing was pretty spot-on; nearly every scene in the film built suspense or ratcheted up the conflict. I was entertained throughout by the action, which was both thrilling and cheeky. However, as the end credits rolled, I found myself largely unaffected by the film's apparent emotional arc. Ultimately, its zany tendencies were favoured too keenly over the protagonist's ripe yet unexplored inner journey.
Some of the most intimate photography I've seen. Yet, whilst this film's pictures make the film's vision clear to all, the action contained in the pictures sways too often into cliché. There were moments of creativity in the delivery, but largely, the structure was too orthodox. The poeticism of the film was let down by the film's distinct lack of surprise or revelation. It was more like a photo shoot than a story.
A gentle stroll through an Italian city rather than the haunting thrill ride it could have been. The plot was most likely developed on the back of a napkin. How, with such an iconic and complex character at its centre, could this film end up as such a shallow meandering? ... There was nothing to surprise, nothing at stake for the central characters, and nothing to reflect upon when the credits finally rolled.