It begins with a bright pink bang, jagged late ’70s punk chords and a graffiti Marie Antoinette slogan, splashed across the screen with scant regard for reverence or history. Or, it seems, the French, who were as impressed at Cannes by Sofia Coppola’s third film as they would be by a Starbucks on the Arc de Triomphe. Talk about missing the point. This is no biopic – it’s an ageless snapshot where accuracy takes a backseat to emotion; beautiful, longing, funny and achingly, achingly cool.
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