This is one of the most singular, beautiful and harrowing films I have seen in my life. The impression it makes on the viewer is intensified by the fact that the film practically doesn't exist. It was released for a short time on DVD in Japan, but besides that it hasn't been on the market anywhere. The only print in the world belongs to the director, and he only lends it out to select museums and theatres. He was kind enough to let the MoMA screen it as a part of their series honoring films that have won the Prix Jean VIgo in the past. The two principle actors are both beautiful and disquieting. They become pictures for Garrel to arrange in his aesthetically perfect frames. The film explores the infection involved in love. The relationship dies because it is claustrophobic, but its claustrophobic only because of its intensity. The psychology of the film is fraught with the influence of drugs, forcing the characters to ask themselves how much they're willing to pay in order to have some beauty in their lives. Watching the movie was a similar experience for me. It's a somewhat unhealthy story, and I knew that the more I enjoyed the film, the more bitterly I would regret never being able to see it again. If it is somehow within your means, do anything you can in order to see this film. And then suck it up and try to remember it the best you can.