Reseñas de la crítica

Much of the film documents Cocteau’s continued frustration, as he seeks to create new work of daring originality, only to find that everything he does is autobiographical. “It’s no use. An artist always paints his own portrait,” Cégeste warns him, and with the film, Cocteau does precisely that. It’s a tour of all the work he’s created in a myriad of mediums.

With one foot in the French New Wave and the other in the Ballets Russes, Cocteau fits a raging confession into a serene, sensuous neoclassical vessel.

It is Cocteau's humility and also his glory that he neither could nor wanted to distinguish the legend of Orphée from his own – to distinguish, in other words, between cinema-vérité and cinema-lie. If this makes fools laugh today . . . it is not everyone who can follow in the path of a poet such as this.