Who sees? Who speaks? In The Acoustic Mirror, Kaja Silverman argues that the literal voice of cinema is male, and that asynchronous female narration challenges said hegemony. Je, Tu, Il, Elle starts with a verbal account of The Genesis According to Chantal, and ends with a sex scene that is above all else functional, serving to complete her before the spectator (and spectatrix).

Akerman drifting like a stray dog, observing like a child, drinking beer Like a Woman, eating sandwiches…

Title checks out, lots of nudity, most of it for Satan. I kept falling asleep towards the end and refuse to re-watch it in an awake state since I believe half-asleep is the way this should be experienced. It's wondrous low-budget smut, the smutty scenes being singularly unerotic - long takes of people awkwardly shifting position alternate with the most inept approximations of oral sex I have ever seen, all set to an A+ Haunted Mansion score. Peak gratuitousness is…