Effectively triggered memories of lockdown and a similarly beautiful Spring here in New York. I'm always a sucker for these Rohmer-esque explorations of old French homes and their rooms and libraries and inner psychological pathways into our main character's psyches.
But ultimately there's not much conflict here. These are all fairly nice people, getting on each other's nerves in all the normal ways. No major pathos is discovered or even hinted it.
And yet, Assayas is able to capture that awful moment -- despite its obvious passing so well, that at times you feel like you're back six years ago in the worst and most beautiful of all Springs.
A minor work, but still the work of a master.