Problem: negative
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Answer: No need to detail what others have written in other reviews - here goes the summary:

* Much of the nested animation work is downright gorgeous - the colors are superb - would love to have it done in silk as a necktie

* The story and execution is a total snooze - it was quite difficult to stay awake at times

If you are a student of the fine arts, medieval calligraphy, early religion and so forth - have at it. This is a FILM for you.

If you want an engaging, entertaining MOVIE - look elsewhere - this is a failure as anything other than an artistic statement.

Vikings didn't have horns by the way...

Problem: negative
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Answer: I think its pretty safe to say that this is the worst film ever made, When I saw the trailer on TV i knew right from second 1 that this would be a piece of **** and it would be best to avoid it, but I somehow got dragged into seeing this by some friends, I walked into the cinema with low expectations but i was hoping there would be a couple of cheap laughs to keep me awake during this film. The so-called "jokes" in this film bring a cringe to the face, they are mostly comprised of people taking hits to the face and balls, the baby looking weird and acting like a horny gangsta and the typical race jokes we see so often in todays garbage comedies. The film is obvious and the story is not only impossible to believe but also predictable and dull. The characters are extremely annoying and heavily stereotyped. I never want to have to see this **** film again, I'd rather take a bullet to the foot than be exposed to this piece of fuckwood ever again. If anyone I see says they liked it i will physically punch them in the face

Problem: positive
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Answer:
My take on this, at our local festival where people would see me so often they thought me a better source than I may actually have been, began with a head shake: "Well, I can't summarize the plot, but it's a really superb character study of an extremely scary man." Then, slight embarrassment, I ran into someone who actually knew what had gone down, that is, from whom Trebor unwittingly gets his new heart. It'd been my last film in a long, long day halfway through the festival. Maybe I'd dozed. The better a film is the more likely it triggers daydreams that send me really dreaming. Don't know. Did know there was an O'Henry twist achingly just beyond my ken as things finished. And knew it had to do with the heart, hence the quietly hilarious talent search. My plot-loss remark had more to do with intricacies of Trebor's connections in France, his relation to the dog woman and so on, stuff I'd been wide awake for. Denis barely glances at details that might have anchored another director's treatment.

But I write these things too often from memory, especially festival films, films whose DVD I don't have at hand (Le Lait de la tendresse humaine is one of many examples.), and plot kinks fade much more quickly than broader impressions. Still, or already, L'Inrus in my memory is beyond all else a character study of a sort of dark-side superman, a super fiend not ensconced in genre or historical trappings but active and plausible, relatively soft-spoken, driven but patient, right among us. The scar, once he attains it, makes him, just visually I mean, in image, a sort of hybrid Frankenstein monster, mad doctor and creation all in one. The actual doctors are his tools. If he doesn't extract and install the heart himself, it's only because it's not possible. He's the force, always, the parasite consuming everyone he touches and finally himself. What else is he? To suggest that he's us, the First World versus the Third, seems too simple since he feeds no less on his fellow First Worlders, on all of us.

Denis's camera's eye - when it looks at things I know - goes usually where mine would, so I tend to trust her when she looks at things I don't know. Snow trekking, too-fast bicycling, and forest darkness I've known in small ways, but the South Seas not at all, so I made better entry into L'Intrus, both France and the crystalline isles of its finish, than into Beau Travail. L'Intrus is, for me, a very comfortable discomforting film. It's a sequence of places portrayed familiarly, with a intimacy that allows us to know them whether we've seen the reality or not. A single image, Trebor cycling, his massive weight on the thin racing frame, the sounds of violated air and shrieking tires, the asphalt ribbon, the dark-in-bright-sun evergreens, cued me that the film would be linear, a road trip, a single will-driven thrust.

Despite Trebor's personal power, he's a human failure. No matter who he's with, he's alone, though apparently he hasn't always been. His body aborts life twice, first to need the new heart, then despite it. L'Intrus is tragedy. Trebor is hubris.

I'm navigating perilously the thread of what I remember. Let's leave it at that.