A psychosexual thriller that’s neither psychosexual nor thrilling enough, The Shrouds is a disappointment. There’s great promise to businessman Vincent Cassel’s invention of a technologically advanced shroud that creates a 3D model of the decaying body it houses, when we’re shown the lust with which he observes his deceased wife’s corpse. The film is peppered with recurrent imagery of her disfigured body, and its importance to Cassel’s character is constantly reinforced, but the film is too talky, its imagery too bland, and its plot too convoluted to make the most of it. A shame.
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With José Arroyo of First Impressions and Michael Glass of Writing About Film.
