One of the rare late-period Godard films to be circulated commercially over here. Why this one? Virtually -- or maybe we should say virtuously -- void of narrative (something to do with memory, history, and a fictitious filmmaker's inchoate project on love and the ages of man), arid, abstemious, prickly, and humorless, even the cheeky bits on Steven Spielberg nailing down the rights to the life stories of survivors of the Resistance. The novelty is that the first half is shot in Paris in coarse-grained, high-contrast 35mm black-and-white, while the second half (which takes place two years before the first half) is shot in the provinces in digital video, with garishly enhanced color but routinely poor definition. It could be said of either half that Godard's eye is sharper than his image. Bruno Putzulu, Cécile Camp. (2001) — Duncan Shepherd
This movie is not currently in theaters.