In the ever-growing canon of beautiful, but empty movies, this is one of the better ones.

Durga Chew-Bose’s adaptation of Françoise Sagan’s novel steps into rather large shoes left behind by Otto Preminger’s first attempt. And it doesn’t necessarily fumble the task, but more so just does little with it.

Where Bonjour Tristesse succeeds is in its fixation on the everyday, crafting an immersive but well-paced environment for the audience to sink into. However, while it's ittedly gorgeous, exactly the type of languid film what I was looking for on this warm day, it’s sorrily dragged down by a clunky script, which Chew-Bose does little to amend for the screen. On occasion, the dialogue lands brilliantly (“try to be wrong sometimes, it’s less lonely”), the actors’ best efforts at naturalism are eclipsed by prosaic lines that feel stiff and out of place.

Ultimately, Chew-Bose somewhat effectively recreates the feel and atmosphere of a psychosexual, mid-century, talky French summer film, but fails to imbue it with the emotions necessary to really explore the philosophical ideas it puts on the table. Like the wind-up toys strangely gifted to a too-old Cecile at dinner, the movie just kind of leaves them there.