Much like recent Alain Cavalier, Monteiro's Come and Go or, for that matter, Akerman's No Home Movie, this is one of those late-in-the-game, no-fucks-given auteurist pieces that takes a little while to warm up to. I was unsure about it at first. (Adding to the muddle, this is my first Vecchiali.) But once we accept the ridiculous premise, it becomes easier to admire this as a portrait of a recalcitrant cad, someone who is literally cataloguing his old loves and finding them unworthy. (A feminist film this is not.)
In the end, of course, we discover that Vecchiali's character Rodolphe has always had but one true love, the one who got away because of his careless cruelty. That this Goddess, to whom all others were but pretenders, is Catherine Deneuve is perhaps gilding the lily just a bit, but hey, it's his late-life fantasy.