At last I got around to watching this film after all these years, the one with the song by Serge Gainsbourg where Jane Birkin makes orgasmic noises and sighs 'Je t'aime, je t'aime' to the music. And in the film she really does. But in that scene she is being buggered by a homosexual male during all of that sighing. She is not doing what people who have just heard the song all thought, and certainly not with Serge Gainsbourg, who as writer and director was behind the camera enjoying showing the world just how much he could degrade and exploit Jane on screen in fulfilment of his deeply sick fantasies. Of course Jane Birkin is entrancing, she always is, both on screen and off. But the film is odious, badly made, disgusting, pornographic, inauthentic, exploitative, demented, psychotic, and everything else. Jane spends more than half of her time on screen entirely naked, but then she is not a shy person, so presumably did not mind that. After all, she stripped off in BLOWUP without a qualm, when she was even younger. Jane's inherent physical androgyny is stressed in this weird and revolting film. Anyone watching will soon discover that Jane has never had much in the way of breasts. But that does not stop her from being intensely feminine. My wife and I have met all the Birkins, Jane's mother Judy having been our close friend. They are all unusual, let's put it that way. And unusual can mean just about anything. I found the most interesting of her three talented daughters to be Kate Barry, whose tragic death occurred not long ago. It astounds me to what an extent Jane is such a celebrity in France that they behave as if she were a goddess. Perhaps she is. Certainly I have always been mesmerised by her whenever she has spoken anything at all. What is her secret? Ah, that is the secret. But as for this film, it is best forgotten and buried in the rubbish tip which features so prominently, buzzing with flies, in the action of the film, if all that tedium can be called action.