The Eyes of My Mother

It is a stark, dreadful vision - but one that is fascinatingly executed, with a compelling central performance from Kika Magalhaes as a matter-of-fact monster.

Chilling and disturbing, this is not a film for the faint-hearted.

Writer-director Nicolas Pesce's debut feels unnervingly like a Diane Arbus photo that's been stretched into a film. Which is to say, it's unnerving.

This is what curdled Americana looks like - a Joel-Peter Witkin portfolio come to life and a vision of jus' folks weaned on isolation, madness, and good old Type O.

Pesce and I obviously don't agree on what constitutes effective (or maybe just productive) ambiguity. It's not a bad film ... it just isn't all there.

Ms. Magalhaes, a former dancer, uses her expressive eyes and graceful limbs to bring the intimacy and sensuality of her actions to vivid life.

The running time - or lack thereof - is a problem, but this otherwise perfectly ghoulish exercise marks Nicolas Pesce and his crew as talents to keep track of.

Deeply disturbing, and with just enough visual tantalisations to boast the director's skill, The Eyes of My Mother is a film that only few could enjoy, or at very least stomach.

Watching Nicolas Pesce's insipid The Eyes of My Mother, it's clear that some directors should make sure they've mastered the basics before they try to do something new within the genre.

This poised feature debut from Nicolas Pesce announces a director who blends arthouse with horror to unnerving, elegant effect.

This teasingly elliptical melodrama is more a psychological study of loneliness and the need for love than it is a generic shocker.

Nicolas Pesce's film opens with an air of originality and deep disquiet and beautifully framed black-and-white photography... Unfortunately, in the second half it descends into... gratuitous torture porn.