Il fantasma innamorato

This is a beautiful little movie. Juliet Stevenson (as Nina) plays one of the most authentic female leads I've ever seen: She bawls full-out, complete with fluids; she looks like a man in bad lighting; she's passive aggressive and irritable and loveable and likeable and real. Likewise, Alan Rickman's character, Jamie, is peevish, like all of us, self-centered, like all of us, but beautiful and unique and again, real. Unlike the schmaltz we're fed here in the states, where dialogue consists of rehearsed speeches (think Jerry Maguire) and love seems skin-deep, this is a couple that seems not only to love each other but to genuinely like each other; a couple that has their own language, as long-term couples do (and it's not translated, which is so refreshing), a couple that can be silly with each other and irritated with each other within minutes; that can have spats that are not high drama or the beginning of the end or anything other than the end of a long day in a too-hot apartment. The ending broke my heart yet seemed like the most natural and right course of action. Truly stunning.