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Do you still remember how, long ago, we trained our thoughts? Most often we'd start from a dream. We wondered how, in total darkness, colours of such intensity could emerge within us. In a soft, low voice. Saying great things. Surprising, deep and accurate matters. Image and words. Like a bad dream written on a stormy night. Under western eyes. The lost paradises. War is here.
My immediate reaction to this film was: a modern, edgy and less focused film comprable to Tarkovsky's "The Mirror."
I genuinely don't know what to rate this film. I'm pretty indifferent towards it. Throughout watching, I noticed my mind regularly wandering, and, unlike how I normally respond to that observation, I let it continue to happen. I feel like Godard would appreciate that because, at the end of the day, isn't that what film is? Visual and sonic stimulus that leads to inward thought? With allowing myself to drift came a meditative quality. The difference with this film is that inward thought inspired by the screen was incredibly immediate but far less direct. I say it's indirect because there doesn't seem to be any complete or clear idea throughout the film that I could have used to inwardly springboard off of.
Like the film, this review doesn't seem grounded in much concrete thought, and I think that's an appropriate response to have. That sounds like a negative statement but it truly isn't. The whole thing felt like an unabashed visual stream of consciousness into Godard's various woes with the world in which meaning can be more drawn from the form than the substance. It was a unique experience to say the least.
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