I write reviews for my future self, knowing that what I recall or feel about a film will fade away or become twisted with time. Even with a written record, those experiences congeal neither perfectly nor permanently. Middle age has only exacerbated this sad fact. I'd reckon Alain Resnais knows a thing or two about that. I see his Last Year at Marienbad as an exploration of memory. His tackling of the subject is awash in repetition, fragmentation, and opaqueness,β¦
