As an admirer of French cinema I came to this with high hopes. Sadly, they were not justified. This is a miserable experience concerned only with a dismal 41-year old man who seems incapable of loving but only of lusting. And the women seem equally bland and lacking in charm and affection once you cut past their external beauty. It's difficult to admire a film when virtually none of the characters justifies sympathy. In fact the only person in the film who I felt any sympathy with was the typist who undertook writing up the book; at least she got out before the end.
The structure doesn't help. I can deal with a flashback approach (the film starts with our "hero's" funeral), but then we get flashbacks within flashbacks, including some rather contrived pieces of early childhood and mother-son relationship. This led to some confusion about chronology although, to be honest, by that time I had lost the sort of interest that I always had for his earlier work.
Maybe Truffaut, who was himself rather fond of women, felt there was some autobiographical element in the story; or maybe he was trying to justify his earlier experiences with women. Either way it was a disappointment.
The structure doesn't help. I can deal with a flashback approach (the film starts with our "hero's" funeral), but then we get flashbacks within flashbacks, including some rather contrived pieces of early childhood and mother-son relationship. This led to some confusion about chronology although, to be honest, by that time I had lost the sort of interest that I always had for his earlier work.
Maybe Truffaut, who was himself rather fond of women, felt there was some autobiographical element in the story; or maybe he was trying to justify his earlier experiences with women. Either way it was a disappointment.