Can't say there's anything astonishing here, but Brault's background in documentary serves him well, he's made a "realist" film sans Cassavetian hysterics, lots of down time, not much actually happens, but its sad shabby settings are wonderfully detailed. And then there's the crisp black and white photography - wintry countryside, wintry Montreal - and the lovely face of young Geneviève Bujold.
85 minutes seem like an eternity when viewing this film. That's a flaw with the Canadian cinema. Bring in Truffault, Godard, Malle, Resnais, or any other French cinematic auteur to direct this film, and there would be more of a fast paced film to watch. Also Genevieve Bujold whom I love, isn't in the film as much as I wanted her to be.