Essentially just a series of scenes that build up and tear down the relationships between these smarmy academics, their friends, relatives, and lovers. I was reminded a lot of the pretentious young people found in Nouvelle Vague films, but Desplechin obliterates every idea that these characters have anything of value or importance to say. They are all so blinded and so dumb, pretending to know everything but really knowing nothing.
Still, their musings are interesting to listen to and the interwoven web of their loves is as rich as a the plot of any good novel. It’s full of humour and warmth and insanely slapstick happenings that somehow all make sense and feel real.
It feels like a predecessor of The Worst Person in the World, but it juggles a larger cast of characters and is a bit more loose and messy in its execution. There are no structured chapters to Paul Daedalus’ life—just a tangled scribble of friendship and romance and words and art.
Essentially just a series of scenes that build up and tear down the relationships between these smarmy academics, their friends, relatives, and lovers. I was reminded a lot of the pretentious young people found in Nouvelle Vague films, but Desplechin obliterates every idea that these characters have anything of value or importance to say. They are all so blinded and so dumb, pretending to know everything but really knowing nothing.
Still, their musings are interesting to listen to and the interwoven web of their loves is as rich as a the plot of any good novel. It’s full of humour and warmth and insanely slapstick happenings that somehow all make sense and feel real.
It feels like a predecessor of The Worst Person in the World, but it juggles a larger cast of characters and is a bit more loose and messy in its execution. There are no structured chapters to Paul Daedalus’ life—just a tangled scribble of friendship and romance and words and art.
