One plausible reason why French critics failed to appreciate the beauty of this film might have something to do with it being a "mood" based film. It must be stated with caution that films with a certain 'mood' take their own time to settle in the minds of viewers. This is one reason why some critics must have failed to interpret "Moon in the gutter" in the right spirit. Jean Jacques Beineix and his screen writing collaborator Olivier Mergault must be congratulated for their realistic depiction of the milieu from which this film's seedy characters come. They give an air of authenticity to an area where one can easily find all types of low lives who do not hesitate a bit to waste their time over petty fights. It is rather a sad feeling to read a lot of negative comments about French director Jean Jacques Beineix's film "Moon in the gutter". The reason for not liking this film could be many as there is no universal agreement about audiences and their tastes. However, it must be remembered that all filmmakers have the right to portray their visions on the big screen in the manner which suits them the best. From this yardstick, nobody has the right to censure Monsieur Beineix for his film which has also been hailed by many critics outside France as a masterpiece.

As has already been said, "The Moon in the Gutter" compared unfavorably with Beineix's previous light and playful "Diva." It also cost too much, which at the time ('80s) was being widely reported as some kind of aesthetic crime. But "Moon" seems to be nothing more powerful as a waking dream/nightmare. With its constant references to being in a dream, the beautiful and artificial sets and lighting, and the way people, cars, and the camera move through and around each other, the film, with a relatively low level of dialogue, manifests an urgent physicality.The camera love the leads, particularly Depardieu and Kinski. Depardieu is shot in repose often, a block of smoldering anger while Kinski seems almost like a light flare of red chiffon he can't grasp. Some reviewers seem to bemoan the lack of a clear mystery or resolution, but the very text of the film seems to stem from the inside of Gerard's (Depardieu) inner thought processes - the sweat, the lights, the suspicion. He flares in anger almost without provocation and can't get the vision of his dead sister out of his head or his dreams - or that razor out of his hand.The billboard, "Try Another World," is a cruel tease, a promise he can ultimately not follow. At the end, he is not with the girl who may save him but we wouldn't believe it if she did. Some viewers may want a clearer denouncement of what comes of Loretta, but the stance, the razor in his hand, the billboard impotent on the other side of the glass and the conflicted schizophrenic cadence of the music says everything you need to know.Beineix's use of symbol to express mood and plot subtext was better submerged in "Betty Blue," a big hit.The moon is not in the sky, it is in the gutter, and there it is strangely beautiful, reflecting another world that is unobtainable, all surface, threatening and like a model on a hill.

The second feature from the director of 'Diva' was met with enough ridicule to suggest a settling of old scores, but unfortunately the film deserved every insult it inspired. No one can say Jean-Jacques Beineix wasn't asking for trouble, and the end result of his efforts to create a heavily stylized, romantic mood piece is an unforgivably empty and pretentious melodrama so laughably bad it might almost be a parody of modern European art-schlock cinema. The ubiquitous Gerard Depardieu plays a burly stevedore who wanders the docks of a nameless city, brooding over the unknown assailant who killed his sister; soon he begins brooding over sultry Nastassia Kinski instead, and they elope. Or do they? Every tantalizing hint of a plot disappears (usually within a scene or two) behind a welter of self-indulgent gestures, none of which could possibly make any sense to anyone except the writer-director. At best the film might be dismissed as a failed experiment; more accurately, it's a near masterpiece of unintended awfulness.

Jean-Jacques Beineix recently stated (transl.) "An auteur does not speak the truth" and here, within this enormously powerful film, he but flirts with reality, while most of the director's creative fires feed upon his singular employment of colour and set design. The style of Beineix, as a cinematic architect, may be designated as Rococo with, as he avers, a preeminence of (transl.) "atmosphere over narrative", fostering an element of whimsy, greatly enhanced by his recognition of a symbolic authority resting upon commercial advertising and its adjuncts. A studied development of exaggerated imagination marks the film, each frame being carefully composed for a production that originally extended to over four and one half hours, in the face of Beineix' assertion that he abhors filmic structuring. This organizational factor, at least in part, stems from an obligatory reflex of the director as recognition of the film's source, a novel by David Goodis, wherein the action occurs primarily at and about dockside Philadelphia, transferred here to an undesignated Marseille, and with the novelist's prototypical women intact, one, Loretta (Nastassia Kinski), angelic and carnally unattainable, ("you are pure" declaims Gerard Depardieu to her), the second, Bella (Victoria Abril) triumphantly lusty and possessed of will such as the work's protagonist, Gerard Delmas (Depardieu) apparently does not have. Delmas is compulsively drawn to the site of his sister's gruesome death by her own hand following her sexual violation, hoping to discover keys to what prompted her suicide, to the identity of her assailant, and to a rationale behind his own obsession. Thus is formed a basis for a plot, such as it may be, yet style is properly victor over substance with this undervalued and enigmatic piece that is nearly all filmed in studio, the greatest portion lighted by arcs and photo floods, with scoring contributed in elegant and operatically motival fashion by Gabriel Yared, and paced throughout, as Beineix describes it, with (transl.) "slow gestures forming the choreography."