I couldn't wait for this movie to finally end. Its ponderously long pans across empty abandoned interiors, its insipid repetitive musical theme that showed no variation through the course of the film, its pretentious philosophizing, and its unsympathetic main character, shown as the same old man even in the flashbacks to his younger married life -- all left me uninspired and tired. I enjoyed the boy's story more than the poet's, but the youngster's acting ability was unfortunately limited in its range. Major set pieces were mannered and overly formal. This film was a major drag. And then I find out that it won the Golden Palm. What were they thinking?