First love is a desperately difficult subject to pull off convincingly in cinema : the all-encompassing passion involved generally ends up as a pale imitation or, worse, slightly ridiculous.
Lifshitz manages to avoid all the pitfalls and delivers a moving, sexy, thoroughly engrossing tale of love, disaster and possible redemption, while tangentially touching on some of the deeper themes in human existence.
The core story is of Mathieu, 18, a solitary, introverted boy who meets Cédric, brasher, more outgoing but just as lonely, while on holiday with his family. As the summer warms on, they fall in love and, when the holidays end, decide to live together. A year later, the relationship ends in catastrophe: Cédric cheats on Mathieu who, distraught, tries to take his own life. He survives and, in order to get perspective back on his life he returns to the seaside town where they first met, this time cloaked in the chill of winter.
If the tale was told like this it would never have the impact it does: much of it is implied, all of it happens non-sequentially.
The intricate narrative is essential to getting a deeper feeling of the passions experienced, through the use of counterpoint and temporal perspective. Fortunately, the three time-lines used (the summer of love, the post-suicide psychiatric hospital and the winter of reconstruction) are colour coded: warm yellows and oranges for the summer, an almost frighteningly chill blue for the hospital scenes and warming browns and blues for the winter seaside.
Both main actors put in excellent performances though, whilst it's a delight to see Stéphane Rideau (Cédric) used to his full capacity (I'm more used to seeing him under-stretched in Gael Morel's rather limp dramas), Jérémie Elkaim (Mathieu) has to be singled out for special mention: you can feel his loneliness, then his almost incredulous passion, then his character crumbling behind a wall of aphasia. Beautifully crafted gestures get across far more than dialogue ever could.
The themes touched upon are almost classic in French cinema: our difficulty in really understanding what another is feeling; our difficulty in communicating fully; the shifting sands of meaning The film's title "Presque rien" (Almost Nothing) points to all of these and, indeed, to one of the key scenes in the film: In trying to understand why Mathieu attempted to kill himself, a psychiatrist asks Cédric if he had ever cheated on him "Non enfin, oui une fois, mais ce n'était rien" (No well, yes once, but it was nothing). Cédric still loves Mathieu  he brought him to the hospital during the suicide attempt (none of which we see) and tries desperately to contact him again once he leaves  but cannot understand that he has lost him forever, because something that seemed nothing to him (a meaningless affair) is everything to Mathieu.
Whilst the film is darker than the rather unfortunate Pierre et Gilles poster would suggest, it is not without hope: we get to see Cédric's slow, painful attempts to get back in touch with life, first through a cat he adopts, then through work in a local bar and finally contact with Pierre, who may be his next love. But here the story ends: A teenage passion, over within the year, another perhaps beginning. So what was it? Almost Nothing? Certainly not when you're living it

Another too bad the lowest they can go here is one. Otherwise this would get an easy zero. Truly one of the worst films I have ever seen. In fact were Peckenpah's name not on the thing I would never have guessed he did it. Actually one of the people in San Francisco I know was on the set a lot and from nearly sunup on he says that Sam was just plain snockered. It shows in spades. The laughing bit at the early part of the film is the ONLY thing in this entire mess worth a second look. Not even Gig Young is watchable. This is a true test of masochism. Had I been forced into the confines of a theatre to see it I would have jumped up screaming. And now I truly feel guilty having watched it all from the confines of a very comfortable couch that was just too nice to leave. What a mess, it seemed less written than made up as they went along. It's not only a bomb but a bmob spelled backwards. Yikes!!!!!