Birds warble in the background as career detective Cristi (Vlad Ivanov) pulls up to Gilda’s (Catrinel Marlon) house. Or do they? Broken into seven chapters — all but one named after a principal character — Corneliu Porumboiu’s icy, camp-free caper comedy prides itself on cunningly backtracking audiences through a tale of pure and simple greed, complexly told. Who better than Cristi, a mafia whistle-blower working both sides of the badge, to drill into the ancient art of the “whistling language,” a Canary Islands variation of Morse Code designed to fool cops into thinking it’s the skirl of birds they’re hearing, not criminals getting a fix on $30 million in stolen greenbacks. When first they meet, statuesque, smokey-eyed knockout Gilda introduces herself as Zsolt’s (Sabin Tambrea) partner, willing to do anything to help spring him from prison, even if it means masquerading as a high-priced call girl and sleeping with a cop. But what happens in Bucharest stays in Bucharest: once they hit the Canaries, all signs of romantic chemistry are off. For all his crime-solving knowhow, Cristi is stiffer than buckram. Even his Mama (Chapter 5) can’t reconcile her unmarried and childless son’s behavior. (The first thing she does after finding a bag of money Cristi stashed in the cellar is to immediately donate it to the Church in exchange for prayers that her baby isn’t homosexual.) Porumboiu is a master of doling out information, and nothing would please him more than viewers needing to hit the rewind button to see what they missed. All this and the best use of a clip from The Searchers this side of Mean Streets. But as wild and enjoyable a ride as it is, I cannot for the life of me fathom how the hell this wraps in Singapore. (2019) — Scott Marks
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