Some people are climbing around the rocks on a Mediterranean island somewhere in the Aegean, talking about making a movie:

"Bertolt Brecht?"

"Wittgenstein."

"La vie est parfois stupide."

"En effet. Un peu comme ce film."

"How beautiful—the trees, the rocks, the boats!"

"Then you despise me?!"

The music swells deafeningly.

Meanwhile, Michel Piccoli's wife is bored and, pushed to her limit, decides that the only thing to do is kiss Jack Palance. Fritz Lang wanders around being old. Palance plays a vulgar US producer who wants to make a movie about "The Odyssey", complete with gods and things. But he is very vulgar, and the writer and director wander around puzzled. Bardot disports herself naked several times. The whole thing seems like a shameful waste, because Palance and Piccoli are important, capable actors and are given nothing to do. Even Brigitte Bardot's bum seems unhappy in its role, perhaps out of its depth, perhaps just miscast.

Alphaville is a hundred times better.