I felt like it wasn't so much watching a film about a man who "loved" women, so much as it was about a man who had devoted his life to having sex with women. Which is fine. I can certainly identify with the feeling. But then what? It was like watching a film about a guy who really liked pancakes—apart from the whole "Women are human beings, not possessions" jazz. (Who knew?)
It could be me. I didn't get 400 Blows either. I'm learning French, but I remain a Philistine.
I did really enjoy Agnes Jaoui and Jean-Pierre Bacri's Les Gouts Des Autres (The Taste of Others). It's a small, quiet, beautifully acted film. Bacri, who wrote the script and plays the lead, is exceptional. It is one of the few films I've seen recently in which the lead and his romantic interest (Anne Alvaro, who is also awesome) are the same age.
Les arts sont bizarre. Souvent, je ne peux pas savoir que c'est bon, et pourquoi. Mais, je sais que ça j'aime bien. Mais, je sais quoi j'aime bien. (Those sentences are written to be corrected. No google translate. Francophones, have at it.)
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