A navel gazing woman makes terrible romantic choices and then pouts because her actions have consequences. Meanwhile, there's no story line, no narrative arc and the characters don't evolve as the film ends with no ending. At least if I were straight, I could've appreciated Juliette Binoche's breasts and cleavage, which seem to be the star of the film.

Meandering french alcoholics binded by deep voids they fill with sexual proclivities perform hilarious long scenes of dialogue overwrought with inane existential banter dripping with dark comedic pathos. If you dig Truffaut, Jarmusch or Venders you’ll love it.