Claude Chabrol's "The Cry of the Owl" bathes in private technique. It's awash with impressive images, montage and other cinematic values. But amid the aesthetics, something vital is missing.

In a sense, that omission is precisely what French director Chabrol is after. Only he'd call it restraint. The maker of understated psychological dramas, he is known for dramas about softspoken characters whose still waters run deep and frequently murderous. His 1987 adaptation of the Patricia Highsmith novel, which changes the book's American setting to a French one, is no exception.

Parisian draftsman Christophe Malavoy, separated from a psychologically abusive wife, has left Paris to work in the Vichy countryside. He becomes infatuated with beautiful Mathilda May, whom he spies on for months. May becomes aware of his eerie attentions and confronts him one day. Her lifelong fascination with death figures attracts her to the gentle, handsome -- but depressive -- stranger.

Engaged to jealous, unappealing Jacques Penot, May realizes she's not in love with her fiancé. She becomes obsessed with Malavoy, who rejects her newfound passion. Their indefinable relationship is attacked by everyone, from her fiancé to Malavoy's wife, who decides to exploit the triangular situation for her own Machiavellian amusement.

Excerpt of Desson Howe's review at The Washington post located HERE.