There is a lot I really didn't comprehend in this self-proclaimed failure of a film, but I kept wanting to watch and admire the experiments Godard and his actors take on as they explore the idea of documentary theater. Though arguably quite removed from its political moment, it is still a fun ode to the subjectivity of language.
Avec des moyens basiques (deux personnages sur un fond noir, quelques intervenants ponctuels et des archives), Godard se livre à une expérience d'analyse / démontage du médium cinéma et du discours révolutionnaire de l'époque. Le résultat est à la fois horripilant et amusant, ridicule et intelligent, assommant et revigorant. Cet essai théorico-pratique assume d'ailleurs son côté foutraque. Godard est un type qui ose.
Although I like the general look of this film essay, especially the weird splicings of old recording conjoined with archive footage and stock photographs, thrusted upon the viewer every couple of minutes or so, I have a strong distaste for what strikes my ears as intellectual gobbledegook and therefore couldn't take it anymore as soon as they started to mention Mao's little red book.
This film reminds a theatrical play, poetry and gives a sense of loneliness, melancholy. I somehow felt Godard's disappointment... possibly because of the growing split between the intellectual revolutionary movement and the working class that was becoming stagnant and revisionist by that time. Great cinematography and outstanding performances from Juliet Berto and Jean-Pierre Leaud!