The Beat that my Heart Skipped

This recent French remake of the 1978 Harvey Keitel flick Fingers about a petty hoodlum torn between beating people up and playing piano (now I try to salvage this sentence) could have been a hell of a lot worse. You fear the guy's gonna get banged up, while pulling for him to make good on them ivories, even as he's a quivering chain-smoking bundle of neuroses. Classic white devil black devil on opposed shoulders stuff. This being France, the Tarantino-Oasis looking protagonist nails a number of attractive ladies, spaced appropriately across the 2-odd hours to insure that we're never too far from a little erotic intrigue. There are relatively few actual corpses.

Worth seeing.