Hey, Godard: Samuel Beckett wants his ideas back. But whereas Beckett can sustain a existential point over the course of a two-hour drama by focusing on character, Godard is more concerned with getting a philosophical message across. May I suggest an essay? In a written medium the message can be properly digested, criticized, and understood, but Godard throws so much at us during this film that we end up lost in the mire of over-intellectualizing; it becomes mental masturbation, and by the end of the film, I feel like my brain has been fucked into silly putty. I try to comprehend him, but I find myself being bombarded by someone who thinks he has something to say but doesn't want me to listen. My tour of Godard films is almost over. Thank God.