The English Patient is one of those films that mostly deserve all the highest praise. I say, most, because this movie, albeit very serious, intense, deep and really thoughtful, still suffers some drawbacks. First and foremost, why, oh why are the modern films so long? This one lasts for more than two hours and from time to time it becomes really hard to concentrate and follow the extremely serious plot. I say, if the film were an hour shorter, that would serve it only good. However, we have what we have. The winner of several Oscars, The English Patient is still very good. It is a deep, insightful treatise of human soul, love and betrayal, war and cowardice, violence and bravery. Ralph Fiennes is a smashing superb actor. His hero, neurotic and silent, is an enigmatic person, ready for everything only to save the life of his lover. He is great, even though half the time he is a deformed cripple. He is the strongest link here. Juliette Binoche is as usual very convincing and sweet. She adds a lot with her excellent play and the love story plot with that Sikh officer. Willem Defoe, Colin Firth, Christine Scott Thomas are all here, all enormous and all very strong. And then there is desert of Egypt, then there is deep, cloudless sky, green groves of Italy. The nature is here, even when people die, bombs roar, land mines explode. War is here, too. It is obvious, terrible, and bloody. Then, there are corpses, horrible gory bodies, then nude bodies, adultery and all. I do not know what to say. So much of a splendid actors' work, so much of realism, so much of brutality that war brings. This is not a film for relaxation. It makes you think.