A great way to let people know that you’re a serious artist is to make a movie about a stage play. That’s what Olivier Assayas has done here folks and it’s very, very intellectual. It’s also turgid, tedious and actively disinterested in engaging the audience in any way that’s not brimming with pretension. 

This film, and its somehow even worse follow-up “Personal Shopper” ought to be banned as obscene crimes against the art of storytelling. They take perverse pleasure in the mundanity of wealth and fame, and offer nothing genuinely interpretive in return. Characters speak in indistinct hypotheticals, the only real purpose of which is to prop up the mastubatory intellectualism of the director.

The one saving grace here is Juliette Binoche’s radiant, committed, almost unhinged performance. She’s mesmerizing in every way. Except when she speaks the dialog in the script.