It seems inevitable that filmmaker Alain Resnais, best known for his tantalizing studies in memory and emotion like Hiroshima Mon Amour, Last Year at Marienbad, and Muriel, would eventually turn to the subject of actual time travel. The result, 1968's Je t'aime, je t'aime, didn't cause as much of an international splash as his landmark works to that point, but over time it has proven to be the most prescient and perhaps more influential than anything else in his filmography. Along with 1962's La Jetée by Chris Marker (itself reworked into 12 Monkeys), this film anticipates any number of reality-skipping relationship films like Bad Timing, Somewhere in Time, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, (500) Days of Summer, and Everything Everywhere All at Once, to name but a few. However, this being a Resnais film it's reliant on film editing and sensory signals to trigger its shifts in time and location, resulting in a haunting meditation on memory and regret that seems to earn more devotees every year.

After an unsuccessful suicide attempt via gunshot, Claude (The Bride Wore Black's Rich) is taken to a medical research institute where he agrees to take part in an experiment previously carried out successfully only on mice. Placed in a Cronenberg-style pod, he is sent back in time for one minute-- but the process instead upends his existence so he keeps experiencing fragments of his recent past involving his girlfriend, Catrine (The Day of the Jackal's Georges-Picot), through good times and bad as her health and mental stability crumble. Soon the scientists behind the project realize their experiment is leading to some drastic and unintended consequences.

Largely reliant on the strength of its two lead performances, Je t'aime, je t'aime is also part of the wave of science fiction that focuses on themes and characterization more than cutting-edge visuals (with Solaris probably leading the pack around that time). Much of that approach can be attributed to the contributions of co-screenwriter Jacques Sternberg, a prolific science fiction novelist, and while the end result should have been a game changer, it was cut off at the knees when its splashy Cannes debut was scuttled during France's turbulent unrest in 1968.

Despite its box office failure, Resnais' film built up something of a cult following over the years that grew considerably when it had a U.S. theatrical reissue in 2014 following by a Blu-ray edition the following year from Kino Lorber (now discontinued now) featuring a booklet with an essay by Jonathan Rosenbaum. Unfortunately that restoration by Eclair, which ended up being absorbed by the equally dreaded and color-blind L'Immagine Ritrovata, was a teal-soaked disaster that sabotaged the entire visual scheme of the film and made it a complete eyesore to endure. The Kino disc featured that presentation as is with a DTS-HD MA 2.0 French mono track with English subtitles, plus extras including a trailer and an audio interview with Alain Resnais (12m43s) ported over from a 2007 French DVD release (now subtitled) about the origins of the story and the harmonious screenwriting process in Brussels, the tenacious nature of his producers, the essential casting of Rich, and the "SOS" theme he wanted that starts in the opening credits.  An interview with Claude Rich (15m45s), also from the 2007 DVD, covers his perspective on this as his favorite of his work, his eagerness to work with Resnais, and the nature of maintaining his perspective as a character in unusual ways throughout the film. Finally "The Meeting of Alain Resnais and Jacques Sternberg" (20m31s) features François Thomas, director of L'atelier d'Alain Resnais, and Sternberg talking separately about the collaborative nature of the screenplay, the connection to Chris Marker, and the slippery nature of assigning authorship to final flashback-laden product.

In 2025, Radiance announced its own U.K. Blu-ray release of the film that obviously raised the question of how it would given that the label went the extra mile of already fixing the deeply botched French master they were given for Litan. Thankfully they've done it again here, draining out that horrendous teal tint and restoring the shades of white and red (not to mention actual flesh tones) that were obliterated before. It's still a cool-looking film, but this is much closer to how it should be. Here you get a French 1.0 PCM mono track with optional English subtitles, and all three featurettes from the U.S. disc are ported over here. Featuring a limited edition booklet with an essay by Catherine Whatley, the Radiance disc also adds two substantial new extras starting with an interview with critic and David Jenkins (12m46s) about the film's influence (particularly on Eternal Sunshine), the unconventional use of music by Krzysztof Penderecki, the construction of the fragmented story, the lo-fi nature of the approach to sci-fi, and his esteem for the end result. Finally, In the Ears of Alain Resnais (54m31s) is a 2020 documentary by Geraldine Boudot featuring collaborators and critics including Resnais, actor Lambert Wilson, writer and actress Agnés Jaoui, critic Michel Ciment, Thierry Jousse, Thomas, and others covering the director's aesthetic approach with a focus on the role of music and sound in his storytelling.

RADIANCE (Blu-ray)

KINO LORBER (Blu-ray)

 

Reviewed on March 8, 2025

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