In terms of a satisfying night out for anyone other than the snootiest of cinephiles, we could maybe do with rather less transparent performances: Baldaque, in particular, is as diaphanous, as barely there, as some of the light cotton frocks she's clad in, and if that's perhaps the point - that, like many actresses, she goes where the wind takes her, an empty vessel that requires filling up - it suggests a fairly low opinion of actresses. And I'd have liked to see more evidence of humour, some sense Green knows just how cranky and recherche he's being (cf. Guy Maddin)... Mostly, though, the tone is dry and academic, like Raul Ruiz deprived of the twinkle in his eye. Green casts himself as the director of the film-within-the-film, and gives himself a heroically embarrassing discotheque sequence ("Hipness can be pretty depressing," he sighs); a roguish, shaggy-haired Billy Connolly lookalike, he gives the impression of somebody who has the potential to provide real, valuable mischief at the expense of our hidebound filmic traditions, but that impression isn't quite realised here. What "The Portugues Nun" shares with Jose Luis Guerin's "In the City of Sylvia" - which managed to project a similar timelessness without ever seeming quite this *stuffy* - is a sure and seductive feel for the streets of a city in summertime. But this, too, is ephemeral, and must pass.