Amazing how rapidly John Malkovich has plummeted from exquisite art-house bloom to a kind of Graham Norton version of Donald Pleasance, but his teetering vanity is quite well suited to Liliana Cavani’s absurd yarn. This time, Ripley is pseuding it up among the renaissance treasures of Italy’s Veneto region, and takes his revenge on tactless English picture-framer Dougray Scott by turning him into a reluctant serial killer. Diverting but hugely forgettable.
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