A French story told in an Asian (ie, Japanese) way. The film functions like images from our collective memory and blends Impressionist paintings with early silent film (use / overuse of piano music). One recalls those vivid colour pictures by the Lumière brothers. Despite all these French elements, the manner, the spirit are very Asian. Not about the story, nor the drama, it is about the essence of maternal love.
La perfection formelle ne suffit pas à faire film. Cette magistrale mise en abîme du temps a oublié toute émotion. Le cycle de la vie ne semble qu'une répétition purement contemplative, absolument parfaite, à l'image de ce monde tiré à 4 épingles, ou chaque plan se fait écho. Quand on accède à l'éternité, la vie n'est hélas plus là !
That was so... BORING. Between the voice over highlighting what we already know or stating banalities, the constant slow motion, and the same story repeated over and over throughout the movie, I would have been out after 20 minutes if I could have stood up without disturbing my pregnant neighbour. Besides, I sensed awkward morals about women and mandatory pregnancy to fulfill their goal in life: sick.