Madame Ennui on the Solar Lantern

As Madame Ennui, I'm inclined to approach this solar lantern, this "DJ Lumière" if you will, like a film that promises much and ultimately delivers little, a guilty pleasure of the festival circuit.

Our director, Étienne Oiseau, known for his pretentious, if not thought-provoking, experimental features, is at the helm. His earlier work, "Le Ciel Nocturne," a six-hour static take on the night sky, was lauded by some for its audacity, condemned by others for its tedium.

The scene within our lantern unfolds thus: imagine, if you will, an ethereal dawn, the threshold between night and day. The gentle curve of the horizon, like the spherical edge of our lantern, bleeds into the cosmos, a melting ice cube of twilight. The light, oh, how it emanates, not with the brashness of a neon sign, no, but with the delicate glow of a Matchstickkin candle, warming the heart but never quite melting the butter.

It's all very Jean-Luc Godard, n'est-ce pas? The existential angst, the mundane made profound, the overarching melancholy. Yet, unlike Godard, Oiseau lacks the courage to jolt us from our comfort, to shock us with the unexpected. It's all too safe, too secure. I found myself checking my montre,Wenn Godard had directed this, we'd have abrupt cuts, a shouting match between light and shadow, a narrative that questions the very nature of existence. Here, we're left with nothing but the unsatisfying glow of half-hearted reverie.

Two cigarettes, perhaps even three, for the technical mastery of the soft, cool glow, but the emotional resonance falls flat. I left early, dear readers, not out of disinterest, but out of boredom.

As for the death of cinema, I'll leave you with this: it's not the lack of new films that worries me, but the lack of new ideas.