When I was 17, I was kind of fascinated by this kind of (typically french) movies. The absence of action in the story telling would reveal some hidden gem, some kind of unknown, deep, mysterious truth, about life and all the unexpected things that could happen. Like meeting someone one evening and then spending the night without knowing anything about each other, without even exchanging a few sentences. Yeah that would appear to be exciting, revolutionary, unusual, unconventional. Now, 36 years later, I've had a few strange encounters in my life (like anybody else, I guess), but then... so what? Nothing to make a fuss about, and certainly not a movie. These moments weren't any deeper or more significant than other events that proved to be far more ecstatic or painful. The absence of any meaningful dialog in a script doesn't make a movie more special or poetic by itself. These long close shots on the actor's eyes don't lead anywhere if the author has no intention, no other purpose but to please himself/herself. After I watched the whole movie, I was left with a feeling of emptiness, that is, the author's emptiness. This film is about nothing, but it tries to conceal that behind smart camera movements, little action and no story. It has nothing to say, but would make us believe it's nothingness reveals something about life. Well it doesn't.