Not the usual tearjeaker of the fourties (see how far from, say, Mildred Pierce, this is). Not the usual women's picture. A deep study of "amour fou" in a very stylish, elegant high melodrama wisely directed by Max Ophuls. That Screen MASTER (with capitals) knew how to confer the film a tasteful sense of the turn-of-century romantic european atmosphere. But its assets are not only limited to screenplay and art direction. Two rather histrionically limited players (Fontaine and Jourdan, who else could be?) are fully potentiated to give their best of their usual screen image. All the traits of the Fontaine's charachter (shyness, demureness) are fully used in this hopeless (as all crazy loves) story of a woman who has her meaning of life in her love for a pianist who ignores her. She is poignant and strangely believable in her longlife obsession. The charms of Jourdan have never been better used than in that film (though he repeated it with much less success in Mme. Bovary). The third player -Vienna-, though just reproduced in stage, acquires a full dimension and integrates completely well into the movie. We can FEEL the city as we have never felt before. A sensible and truly romantic movie for all time.