A belated blurb about “Hiroshima Mon Amour,” the Alain Resnais new wave classic that I caught last week at Film Forum (perfectly timed with my Tokyo afterglow):

The same poetic, overwrought melodrama that tarnishes the script’s beauty with a hefty dose of cheese has the exact opposite effect on the composition, which is the height of elegance and artistry. Every shot is so perfectly framed that, well, it could be framed. Look at these!:

Jaw-droppingly gorgeous, no?

I spent the movie enraptured by the cinematography and appreciative that even though the screenplay didn’t speak to me in the traditional sense, it spoke to me in the literal sense. As in, it was sparse, repetitive and simple enough for me to understand 90% of it without subtitles.

French practice, eye candy, and a warm movie theatre on a cold night = perfection.