Equally revolutionary is the movie’s approach to lighting, which is actually pretty simple: They didn’t have any. There’s a similar complaint about the sound — while most of the movie is, technically speaking, audible, you may want to try something other than the camcorder mic when you’re trying to film a musical performance — but the lighting takes the cake.
Seriously, there are vast segments of this movie so dark that I’m reasonably certain that it was filmed by vampires, or possibly mole men.
It’s when these two revolutionary techniques combine, however, that the movie’s ineptitude goes off the scale, and it all comes to a head in the movie’s love scene:
The culmination of a film romance, or long-distance shots of the Crab Nebula taken by the Hubble? You decide.
Even with all those many, many, many flaws stacked against it, though, I just keep coming back to Linnea being a tobacconist, which is just a genuinely weird profession for a vinyl-clad cat burglar, especially given that she first bonds with her boyfriend over an extended scene about purchasing finely crafted tobacco accessories. I’d swear it was product placement that represented one of the Philip-Morris corporation’s shadier deals, but I’d have a pretty hard time believing any money whatsoever changed hands during the making of The Minx.