If someone dented the colonnades in these apparently low-pitched and proper households, they'd exude viscid poison into jade carafes.. Every now and then my mind returns to this film as a celestial body sliver on an erratic orbit. Its tranquil shapes, spiderweb domes, the sylphic youth and nearly ossified order are venom-holding goblets. Vast industry of elegance that lids a blighted greenhouse. Inside this prolific,
Just seen and surprise: an unexceedable alliance of cinema as an illusionary art (despite Cocteau) of images as signs (despite Godard). In a movie that is an eroded biography (like a Garrel) of a youth that dilutes in the pain of its ephemerality (as a Fassbinder), images and sounds are supported by the immanence of its literary power. The exorcism of romanticism (as in a Schroeter) by a filmmaker i won, of my own.