The rail-thin Thomassin, all angles and scars and wounded bravado behind his scruffy mustache, and Beaugrand, a tall, pale beauty who hunches her shoulders and bows her head and peers out from beneath her brow through a floppy lock of hair, energetically tangle and trade etched phrases and aggressive silences in fluid long takes that seem composed of a series of sculptural tableaux.

NEWYORKER: Just Anybody