A single man by Tom Ford, with Colin Firth and Julianne Moore

Recently, I saw a gay movie, the second this year (after I love you Phillip Morris which does not deserve a reference here or elsewhere), the sweetest this year, the saddest this year (OK, I’m not counting Bright Star – you got me).

Where do I start ?

- the music and the (sexual) tension : never vulgar, never obvious, nooo touching ; a classic Wong ­ Kar-wai (remember In the Mood for Love ?)

- the textures & the colours : the human skin, with its pores / wrinkles / dark rings ; the wood, of the trendiest house ever, of a small yellow pencil sharpener ; the clothes, the immaculate perfection of a black costume, hanging on to details, recreating the routine of a long lost life ; the eyeglasses – hiding behind a veil, looking to an immobile world, a world that stopped existing with the disappearance of the beloved one ; the car : superfluous decadency of a former happy life

- the sounds, their absence, the silences, the claustrophobia of an empty day, of an empty life, of a useless English class

A hedonistic (and yet, profound) approach to life and love.

And then, the truth : the deception of the intolerable surrounding people. What can be more terrible that being forbidden to go to the funeral of the love of your life ?

How can you say good bye ? How can you ever let go ?