When it comes to Godard, I find myself with mixed feelings. He has a lot of great ideas, he just tends to put them together in an incoherent, sometimes even obnoxious way. Things in a movie don’t have to be narrative, or even make sense, but for them to work for me as well as they can there needs to be a flow of some sort, some kind of rhythm. Though very loosely, Godard achieves that with this film.
« Je ne m'appelle pas Pierrot, je m'appelle Ferdinand ! » Too much intertextuality for my taste. I often feel excluded whenever I watch his movies, which is why I'lll probably never become a big Godard enthusiast, though I do have a certain love and adoration for French cinema.
1.5 No movie should require this much suspension of disbelief. The characters are depthless and all they do is contrived. As is the "plot". This is such self-indulging filmmaking. So pseudo-intelectual... a film made for the critics, it seems. Good cinematography by Raoul Coutard though.
Challenging to get through on a first viewing but much more rewarding afterwards, once the expectation of basic storytelling is left behind in a favor of varied beauty of landscapes and interiors that are jointed with quirkiness and charisma of two main characters. And all combined, somehow they manage to create something in between EP record, viral meme and post-impressionist painting; echoing a movie form as an art