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It’s difficult to express how bad this movie is. Even in the 1950s when intellectual searching for the meaning of life was fashionable and beatnik rejection of physical comforts, clean clothes, haircuts, etc. was a common reaction to the smug middle-class mores of both the USA and western Europe, this movie would have been a stinker. The plot is a mishmash of several dei ex machina (if that’s the correct Latin grammar); the acting consists of deadpan stares broken by occasional hysterics (by the male lead as well as the females); the gratuitous view of Catherine Deneuve’s (or somebody’s) breasts are worthy of a Budweiser commercial; the repeated cacaphonous orchestra rehearsal in the abandoned building is I’m sure heavy with meaning in the director’s mind but to me is just one more stupid symbol thrown into this meaningless movie — I’m ranting because my time has been wasted watching this scam excuse for an art flic. The scenery is beautiful and the sex scene is hot — but underneath his clothes, this king has no substance.