Godard’s latest is a triptych of cacophonous sound and imagery, rich in significance, which swoops occasionally into something resembling conventional narrative (formally, at least) on an anonymous cruise-ship and, later, at a rural French petrol station. But, needless to say, the storyline is not what is important here. A bewildering collage of varying video formats and occasionally decaying sound and image underset by Godard’s “Navajo-English” (read: unreliable, minimalist) subtitles: there really is no other film quite like it, nor one which subjects the viewer to such a broad range of gratifying, disturbing, disorienting or significant images in its 102 minute life-span. Godard makes films with an indignation and courage that, currently, perhaps only Lars von Trier can match. It is astounding to see a work of such freshness and theoretical rigour produced at this stage in the great man’s career. A triumph.
