A dizzying blend of stylistic bravado and hauntingly fragmented storytelling from Hélène Cattet and Bruno Forzani
Reflection in a Dead Diamond is a bold and visceral work from Filmmakers Hélène Cattet and Bruno Forzani (Amer). A dizzying blend of stylistic bravado and hauntingly fragmented storytelling, where inspiration comes from the schlocky style of Fumetti Neri. A pulpy series of Italian comics popularized in the 60s that showcased anti-heroes and embraced explicit and exploitative themes along with a good dose of sex. Cattet and Forzani deliver on all fronts, while also picking from their past homages to giallo and spaghetti westerns to craft a hyper-stylized pastiche that channels the grandiosity and sleekness of 1960s Bond films while injecting them with the unapologetic chaos of gonzo cinema.
At its core, Reflection in a Dead Diamond is a meditation on the aging superspy, a figure who reflects on his past exploits and questions the worth of his legacy. Fabio Testi stars as John Dimas, a retired secret agent living in luxurious isolation on the Côte d’Azur. Triggered by the sight of a pierced nipple adorned with a diamond, Dimas contemplates his former glory days, his fragmented memories flood back, taking us through a nonlinear narrative filled with action, intrigue, and sudden moments of clarity.
The film frequently flits between past and present, using disorienting techniques like freeze-frames, abrupt image cuts, and flashbacks. The result is an emotionally cold film, one that communicates more through imagery than dialogue. In many ways, this approach mirrors the character of Dimas himself, a man trapped in a haze of regret, memories, and unresolved missions.
From the opening credits, a bold homage to those mesmerizing Bond title sequences, all the way through to the final frame, Reflection in a Dead Diamond is a feast for the eyes. The filmmakers’ trademark aggressive style, which blew the roof off Fantastic Fest back in 2017 Let the Corpses Tan, is back in full force. This time, it’s taken up a notch, with each frame dripping with pop-art-inspired imagery. In one standout sequence, an assassin, dressed in a shimmering disc-covered gown, dances through a room full of killers, her attire doubling as a deadly weapon. The entire scene is a glittering chaos of lasers, disco lights, and blood-soaked bodies, an intoxicating visual treat that feels almost like a waking dream.
The cinematography by Manuel Dacosse captures the larger-than-life spectacle of the film, with sweeping shots that evoke the grandeur of old-school Bond movies opulence and Euro-chic. This isn’t just a visual thrill ride, it’s a narrative experience embedded in the fabric of its extravagant, kaleidoscopic world.
Cattet and Forzani aren’t afraid to lean into the kitschier aspects of spy films. Bond-esque gadgets, armored cars, and even X-ray technology make appearances, but these are less about advancing the plot and more about celebrating the tropes that define the spy genre. The film’s broader narrative arc, a mission gone wrong, a deadly assassin (played ‘mostly’ by Thi Mai Nguyen), and a conspiracy surrounding a powerful new energy source, is a bit secondary to the visual and thematic indulgences on display, but nonetheless effective at providing a backbone to the action. The latter half also tilts into more meta-territory, adding another intriguing layer to both the inspirations for the film, as well as its themes.
Fabio Testi gives a brooding performance as the aging superspy, filling the screen with a gravitas that contrasts with the chaotic world around him. His portrayal of Dimas is a man both haunted and detached, staring into the abyss of his past. In flashbacks, Yannick Renier plays the younger Dimas with a no-nonsense, lethal precision, reflecting the spy archetype at its most brutal. Nguyen’s Serpentik is an enigmatic presence, a deadly, face-shifting assassin who represents the very embodiment of Dimas’s troubled memories, perceived failures, and past catching up to him.
The film’s treatment of identity and memory is a key theme, with the figure of Serpentik serving as a mirror to Dimas’s own fractured self. Much like Bond’s many lovers and enemies, she represents the faces and pasts that the spy both cherishes and seeks to forget. There’s a tangible sense of regret and isolation plaguing this man left with his piecemeal memories in his later years. The ravages of age going some way to explaining, or rather validating the more fragmented structure of the film, and weaving in a more poignant emotional thread.
What truly sets Reflection in a Dead Diamond apart from typical spy thrillers is its commitment to style over coherence. The film is a dizzying, sometimes overwhelming kaleidoscope of psychedelic colors, frantic action sequences, and fleeting narrative fragments. It recalls the early 007 films but refracts them through the prism of 1960s Italian pop art and giallo cinema, creating something uniquely mesmerizing and intense.
