I like the slow burn of a cigarette before the ash drops.
I like the tension in the opening seconds of "Untitled (How Does It Feel)."
I like to look at clouds, not to find meaning in the shapes, but to watch them creep across the sky.
As a result, I liked this movie.
The poetic aspects of this film have been overstated so much, I will have to assume that anybody who sees it at this point knows to expect beautiful cinematography and the language of the unspoken. As a result, I am not going to talk about these things.
To me, the most fascinating element of this film was the amount of improvisation used to develop character. I am a firm believer in the idea that people act the best when they are playing themselves, and this film is a perfect example: while neither main character is involved in theatre, they are actors in their own way. Together they reenact scenes they imagine their spouses have lived, and eventually become so enveloped with these ideas that they begin to live it out themselves. As things begin to turn, they rehearse for their eventual confrontations with their spouses. Towards they end, instead of saying goodbye, they act out the way they imagine their farewells should go. They are living their lives the way they want them to go, but never can admit that things are the way they've always dreamed they would be.
My biggest complaint is that they did not use their collaborative martial arts serial to write out their real-life fantasies, but I suppose once fantasy enters real life there is little need for real life to enter the realm of the fantastical.