By far the worst Godard feature I've seen to date. Pointless drivel from start to finish. Two stars for some beautiful image. One of them knocked off again for Gerard Depardieu, whose contributions to the film make Norman Mailer's brief turn in King Lear look Oscar-worthy.
As usual Godard is undone by his own hyperactivity: words, words, words come flying at the audience in rapid dialogues and onscreen script, scenes constantly cut to other scenes before they're through (the film of a man who's always interrupting his thoughts with other thoughts), etc. As it's Godard, it's mighty impressed with itself and not quite as intelligent as it thinks it is. But at least it's easy on the eyes.
From the images to the music to the words, this is easily Godard's most beautiful film, and tied with Pierrot le fou as the Godard I've rewatched the most. While it is impossible on the first viewing, it is a revelation on the second. It is best watched as an essay film, with 2 or 3 Things being the closest point of comparison. Do not make the same mistake that Abraham Klimt made by trying to find a story.