And after all the advance fuss, what is [Last Tango in Paris]? Three films. One is new Bertolucci, one is old Bertolucci, and one is old New Wave. The first of these parts is what has been most loudly touted, and, surprisingly enough, this touted part is the best in the picture.

The "new Bertolucci" sections have an unexpected strength and engagement. The good scenes in Tango, though never quite free of attitudinizing, strike toward something black and truthful, something deeper than the director's self-licking sleekness in the past (and elsewhere in this film). (p. 173)

[The] atmosphere of hot hard sex is there and—for a time—gives these scenes a feeling of collision and relief. Then the tension begins to ebb: as [Paul's] autobiographical musings dribble into the commonplace, as his rue-laden background seems not particularly rueful, and as his bitter iconoclasm—on the subject of the...