Lawrence.com

French director Patrice Leconte has made a habit of twisting the world out of recognizable shape. In "The Girl on the Bridge" he made the outlandish seem not only plausible, but also commonplace, and in "Ridicule" he delightfully blurred the definitions of folly and wisdom.

Expectedly, "The Widow of St. Pierre" is an atypical morality tale. At first, the situation seems deceptively clear. In 1850's Saint-Pierre (part of Newfoundland), two drunken fishermen stab a man to death. One of the killers dies shortly after the trial. The other, Neel (moonlighting Bosnian director Emir Kusturica) is headed for the guillotine. His attitude during the trial doesn't help him. When asked why he and his partner cut the victim in the stomach, he simply replies that he was trying to discover if the deceased's girth was due to overeating.

The locals and the city fathers can't wait to separate Neel from his head, but they'll have to because there are no guillotines on the island. Not wanting to execute the condemned in an uncivilized manner (these devices were once considered merciful), they have to wait for responses to their letters in France. In the meantime, Jean (Daniel Auteuil, "The Girl on the Bridge"), the captain of the local fort has the thankless duty of confining the prisoner until a new guillotine arrives. Because the wait will be long, Jean's wife Pauline (Juliette Binoche, "Chocolat") asks her husband if Neel can act as a sort of gardener until he meets his ultimate fate.

With her support, Neel gradually becomes a much different individual. Separated from drink, his anger cools and his considerable brawn becomes a blessing to many of the local widows because he can repair their houses. The townspeople who wanted him dead grow to love him, especially when he saves both the local tavern and its owner during an accident.

As time progresses, his crimes seem like a distant memory, but to the town's civilian authorities, Neel's continued survival is an embarrassment. They start falsely claiming that Pauline is romantically involved with the prisoner and harass Jean into expediting the execution. Jean openly defies them, placing himself in as much danger as Neel.

The impending doom is a given from the opening frames of "The Widow of St. Pierre." In fact, the "widow" of the title refers to a nickname the French have for the guillotine. The locations themselves, while attractive, provide an eerie compliment to the story. The open sea, the jutting rocks, as well as the austere snow covered landscape project an eerie sense for foreboding. In addition to convincingly reproducing the period, the filmmakers do a fine job of playing up the isolation, giving the cold terrain a feeling of simmering tension.

Leconte wisely tempers this gloom with a dose of his usual offbeat humor. Without diminishing the essential darkness of the story (which is based on an actual incident), he mocks the increasing cravenness of the mayor and his cronies. In one unsettling sequence, they coerce a newcomer to the village to become an executioner when none of the townspeople agree to put Neel to death. As Neel evolves from a violent drunk to a productive citizen, their hatred becomes as arbitrary as his once was.

As with "Ridicule," Leconte relishes putting compassionless people in their place. Leconte is able to make the tale much broader, so "The Widow of Saint-Pierre" becomes more than a tirade against the death penalty.

He also coaxes some expectedly fine performances from Binoche and Auteuil. Binoche has an appropriately maternal quality that is so effortless that it's easy to take her talent for granted. Nonetheless, the appropriately large and imposing Kusturica walks away with the movie. With only a couple of previous cameos to his name, he deftly captures Neel's early cruelty and budding heroism.

Leconte again manages to be one of the filmmakers of any nationality who can create convincing romantic attachments. With a minimum of skin, Leconte makes viewers believe that Auteuil and Binoche cannot live without each other. The story may be a downer, but with this little triumph, "The Widow of Saint-Pierre" doesn't seem depressing.