Funnily enough, I would have assumed that I'd find more interesting attraction in the political meandering flowing through the film, rather than the mundane musicological tasks, what with my interest for the Rolling Stones not extending far beyond "Paint It Black". But no, I actually found much enjoyment viewing the Mick Jaggers and Keith Richards noodling their instruments and attempting to assemble their song into a finished form. Godard especially excelled in this area, his ubiquitous floating camera subtly captures a band at work; the only allusion to the Frenchman and his crew coming when Jagger offers a "Ca va?" to the camera, which is met with no apparent reply.

It could be that previous experience with such Godard brilliance as Weekend and La Chinoise, has eroded the potential impression that the political content would have given me. The walk in the woods scene, where Eve Democracy is interviewed, giving only monosyllabic answers to the interviewer's questions, reminds me of both aforementioned films; geographically with regards the former, and the political content with regards the latter. The obtuse essaying in this scene is enjoyable, if not so cryptic as to be useless to those viewers looking for a clear statement of intent.

In the end, Godard annihilates the film world in quite a wonderful toppling of filmic walls. First, the Stones' studio world is penetrated by a rogue sound-mike, and then a rogue Godard, proffering cigarettes to the lads on the job. And the last scene is enigmatically set on a beach, where Eve Democracy runs around for a while, trampling all over the dolly track, then, following a faux-death, being situated on the camera crane. All is rather fun, if not deficient of clarity.

And therein lies the problem with Godard, he has a tendency to bat away interpretation, setting up a wall impenetrable to the daggers of analysis and elucidation.

It would belie Godard's inherent hostility to convention were he to have chosen a musical subject whose tunes are rife with references to Bolshevism and whatnot. It seems that the awkward combination of themes is only something to be welcomed by the figurehead of the French New wave. "Gimme all the asymmetries you can accumulate," he says, "and I'll give ye some artistic construct of it." "Fair enough," says I to Godard.

Personally I'd like to see phenomenological ontology united with bread-making.

All criticisms notwithstanding, the film still remains a mildly enjoyable hark back to political radicalism in the late 60s as it was observed at the time. Or at least a hark back to Godard's thematic interweaving, various didacticism sieved through his mind, and fed through to the world in a gush of arty flourishes.

After the film, I flew off into the ambit of the maid. Instantly she assessed the situation and knew it was her righteous master hovering over her head, and that he had been wronged by his own interest in antiques. She was able to apprehend my moth-minded body, and throw us both upon the mercy of the Perlman Stone. It's glowing features took a devil-less sympathy for our quandary, and magically reversed the initial reversal.