Tonight, in the middle of watching Visages Villages, I started crying. It wasn't a fully committed bawl, and nothing especially sad had happened in the film; it was more of a soft misty cry that wouldn't have been noticed in the dark, even if F had turned to look right at me.

At that particular point in the movie, JR and Agnes Varda are visiting Normandy, where long ago Varda had photographed two naked men as well as a dead…