Godard gets 2 for trying to be different, but this early sixties, experimental, existential (it has to be, doesn't it?), barely plotted, inexplicable jumble of ideas, off the cuff meanderings, and comments on what was happening in the world at the time just does not stand the test of time. It now looks mannered, pretentious, tedious, pseudo-philosophical (as if made for an in-crowd seminar critique by Jean Paul Sartre and his Left Bank Gitanes-smoking cronies), experimental colour-laden because the Director could fiddle about in homage to his European contemporaries mess of a film. Yes, Godard was revered, but 'Alphaville' and 'Breathless' were fit for cinema - this only bores you to tears with his self-indulgence masquerading as 'IMPORTANT' cinema. Belmondo survives everything, and he does here, effortlessly reading philosophy at the same time as coolly romancing an out-of-reach femme fatale. Some of the sixties cinema was crap on reflection - and this is prime off-colour rump.
Review of Pierrot the Fool
