So, I introduced a friend to the existential anguish and ennui of Henri. Much giggling ensued.
Poor Henri, the world is too much with him.
Having seen enough French and other 1960s-70s art films about the crushing ennui of modern life and the lack of truly soul-gripping, Meaning-Full ideas in the world to fun for the exit, I laughed at poor Henri.
Yes, I’m one of those barbarians who does not appreciate the delicate sensibilities of the true artist or aesthete.
If your tastes are a bit more like mine: