A poet (Jean Cocteau, who wrote and directed) travels through time, without rhyme or reason, encountering characters he has created which have morphed outside his creation of them. He is lost, as we are, and trying to hopelessly make sense of everything ..... just as we are. It's probably best to not try and make sense out of Cocteau's swan song, a surreal journey through a poet's hallucination and just take it on face value as a dream. On that level, one can relax and enjoy the film's often startling imagery and witticisms. I mean it no disrespect by calling it a glorified home movie. There's a conspiracy and seeming spontaneity to the proceedings, as if Cocteau called up a few friends and said, "Hey, you want to be in the movie I'm shooting this weekend?". No, I'm not suggesting the film is a toss off, it takes a lot of talent to make something difficult look this free flowing. Among the familiar faces popping up in the film: Yul Brynner, Jean Marais, Charles Aznavour, Jean Pierre Leaud, Maria Casares, Claudine Auger and Francois Perier.
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