I wanted to enjoy this film more but it just didn't seem to carry much emotional freight despite the promise of the cast list. Once you understand the set-up the interest seems to revolve around the question of what constitutes sincerity in relationships and who is best placed to know it. Even the somnabulistic allure of Beart couldn't save it. Not a complete waste but 2 and a bit stars seems about right.

Kingsley was an entirely credible maniac. So many recent gangster roles seem to boil down to a kind of camp, but not this one.

It's a nice question whether Godard's incessant logocentrism is ironically intended or not. His female figures appear to maintain a defiant opposition to it, even when he has maybe scripted their responses. Something of the surrealist notion of the feminine as voyante, unassimilable escapes the modish philosophical tirade, thankfully. Is it possible- even for Godard- to find the universe the depths of a cup of black coffee and still expect to be taken entirely seriously?