A aesthetic, lyrical, sonic pleasure (purely for the music and JLG's delivery), but also too enigmatic, and indulgent, to reveal as much as you might like about the film, its themes, or its maker. There are of course some insights, and some witty observations, but Godard is too self-enamoured to truly explicate how you might expect for a film about the creative process. A third party might have done the job better.
As Blanchot, the fact of the film to come serves as the surface where all the discourse of an enormous invocative capacity is inscribed in genesis, dialysis, analysis and construction. To review a film is to reinterpret it in the light of an oral narrative which retraces it and, at the same time, makes a new film where the previous images serve as new images-meanings by the art of an editing filled with art.