Confoundment would be too subtle a word to describe what my mind was traversing as I watched the movie, the whole and entire film that is. Had I read any Proust, watched any other work done by Ruiz beforehand, I may have had a clue of what to look for, what to expect or what to look out for - it was utterly perplexing, absolutely baffling to my virgin eyes and ears. By the time the movie was over I could only barely recall a couple of names and incidents.
             Memories and dreams, delusions and episodes past flow by in diverse and uneven tones that mistify, at first, possibly, even the experienced: those acclimatized to the expedition the mind must navigate to reach a fair understanding of both the present and past in this intricate film, may be left dumbfounded at some point, or all - there is a chance. I, for one, was not one of the lucky individuals skilled enough to comprehend such elaborate, inexhaustible alterations; they did exhaust my patience and usually quite adapt awareness.
             The warps and twists in time, going back and again possessed no organizing principles at all, even less it would seem to someone like me, unaccustomed to both Proust and Ruiz's work. Once over, even before, I deemed the film too obscure - that it just wasn't understandable. I decided to give up. I decided to hate it, simply denote it senseless rubbish.
             The second time, I was reborn. As I sat and lay and watched and took as many notes as I believed to be worthy, I understood fully, mostly, everything. I began recalling certain lines and sequences, understanding the going back and forth in time with no warning, deciphering which scenes represented dreams and which reality, his life; perhaps even why his unconscious was mixing them together.
             This second time, I only took 2 breaks; and I appreciated the movie infinitely more, since now I could truly grasp the concepts of the recurring events. I could decipher who Gilberte was (and per...