Anaïs in Love

Sometimes, rarely, you come across a film that is so disappointing that you are sort of reeling from it the morning after, thinking you'd better done the accounting, washed your hair, or stared at a patch on your carpet.

This is one of those blessedly rare films.

This film lives or dies by the amount of sympathy you can summon for the scatterbrained, narcissistic, hyperactive protagonist. If you attracted by her, or aspire to be like her, you may make it to the end.

For the rest of us, what remains is a sort of 21st century French comedy cliche' bingo: manic pixie girl? Check! A touch of Amelie Poulain? Check! Slightly nauseating sex scene with an extremely older guy? Check! Mother who has cancer, because that's what older women do right? Check! A touch of sapphic love? Check!

I gave up about two thirds in. I don't know how it ends but I can sort of figure it out. I am also slightly outraged this has been compared with the much superior "The worst person in the world", which features a similar protagonist and similar themes, but with so much more originality and insight.