Ryan Gilbey

As Valentine’s Day treats go, however, Love Hurts is the cinematic equivalent of a wilted bouquet from a petrol station forecourt.

Though the interviews with the Reeve children are poignant and insightful, directors Ian Bonhôte and Peter Ettedgui show no signs of trusting their material.

Suspense is kept on a low flame but the film offers cosy pleasures, not least in the jury-room wrangles.

It’s understandable that a film this gentle wouldn’t venture into the gory details of what happens to Tom during a bruising night in the cells but to gloss over any of the terror a civilian might have felt under the cosh is baffling.

The fussy visual style that keeps drawing attention to itself does its best to prevent us from becoming absorbed in this tempestuous romance.

Throughout the film, the band remain affable company.

This debut from the writer-director Corey Sherman is a real four-leaf clover: delicate, unique and subtly magical.

Nicol Paone’s flat direction and Jonathan Jacobson’s listless screenplay leave the cast painting by numbers.

Grisly sights are paraded before the camera (including a castrated hunter and untold bison gore) but Polsky lacks the visual flair to make the shocks visceral or the suffering anything more than superficial.

Any stabs at thematic seriousness have an incongruous feel. It’s admirable that Deacon, who has been vocal about his own mental health issues, has made his character bipolar, but the subject isn’t explored so much as mentioned repeatedly.