Anyone who was at the world premiere screening of this film on the opening night of last month's International Film Festival is either still grinning at the memory or has passed away in the interim.
The film already had us on a sort of cinematic cloud nine before Habicht took the stage in costume (electric pink stovepipe pants) and in character (which is to say, just as he is) and, peering into the darkness to make sure we were still there, made a phone call to his co-star.
It was a perfectly judged piece of showmanship that delighted because it was at once contrived and quite devoid of pretension - which is a pretty handy description of the film as a whole.
Habicht means no disrespect to the nauseating 1970 weepie by giving his film the same name. It's just that, as it drags you into its world, no other title seems apt. Not for nothing did a member of the premiere audience implore Habicht to "tell her you love her" on that phone call. The film he's come up with is, in its own way, as swooningly romantic as Brief Encounter.
But Masha, the lustrous and lissom Russian who walks into the movie and Habicht's life carrying a slice of cake, is no ordinary love interest. She is the film-maker's muse, collaborator, critic and sparring partner in the oddest of enterprises - a love story made up as its participants go along, assisted by the inhabitants of the city in which it's set.
