1949. Corpulent nurse Coral (a sluttish and disturbing Regina Orozco) answers a lonely heart ad placed by ‘Spanish gentlemen’ Nicolas (Daniel Gimenez Cacho). Pathologically obsessed with his own baldness, he’s a conman who steals from Coral and vanishes into the night. But crook or no, she is smitten and, dumping her kids, tracks Nicolas down. Posing as brother and sister, they take off across country, meeting, conning, and eventually brutally killing more lonely as they go.

But if the plot offers little over Kastle’s grubby monochrome gem, Ripstein’s reworking could scarcely be more different in execution. Deep Crimson is imagined in a late afternoon sepia, and realised in a succession of long, languid takes. The camera floats through sets thick in religious clutter, observing closely but never in close-up. Stylistically elaborate, then, Ripstein is about telling his story through images.

And his mismatched leads, regardless of the merits of their undoubtedly fine performances, do look terrific together. The Divine-like Orozco stomps through, hiding a touching vulnerably that’s exposed like an open wound in the final act, while Cacho’s pathetic little narcissist is a wretched, weedy delight.

And while it’s a strange and frequently grotesque picture to be sure, only the hardest of hearts would refuse the naked pathos of its finale.