malcolm and marie’s long tangents about life and film criticism go nowhere. feels like i got berated by this movie for no reason and more importantly doesn’t even give me any reason to give a shit about either one of them
women in the 60’s (even now) feels pressure and anxiety in order to maintain their beauty, and it’s absolutely nerve-wrecking to see this with Cléo. but i couldn’t imagine another french new wave director creating this movie. merci Agnès Varda!