In French with English subtitles. Starring Benoit Regent and Johanna ter Steege. At the Pacific Cinémathí¨que from July 9 to 12, and on July 17.

Sometimes the most innocuous movies can have the most disastrous effects. Who would have thought, for instance, back in the late 1970s, that the box-office success of La Cage aux folles would lead North American art-house distributors to focus on light, fluffy French comedies to the exclusion of almost all else? In the process, we somehow lost sight of a whole generation of post-Godardian auteurs, of whom the most important was perhaps Philippe Garrel.

Of this director's many works, J'entends plus la guitare is unquestionably the most storied. This is because the film describes, in thinly veiled fashion, the tormented, decade-long relationship that bound him to Nico, the Velvet Underground's notoriously self-destructive lead singer.

J'entends plus la guitare is therefore about love, sex, betrayal, despair, hard drugs, and suicide. In New World terms, it would be a tabloid dream come true.

Not in Garrel's mitts, however. With the aid of Marc Cholodenko's extraordinarily eloquent dialogue, J'entends plus la guitare turns into a surprisingly moving, philosophical, even chaste chamber piece about feelings and the passage of time.

The differences between men and women are endlessly discussed by Garrel-surrogate Gerard (Benoí®t Régent) and his best friend (Yann Collette). Meanwhile, in the scenes between him and Nico-double Marianne (Johanna ter Steege) there is no suggestion that one is a famous cineaste and the other a celebrated chanteuse.

As for Aline, the woman who rescues Gerard from the wreckage of his drug-driven, promiscuous existence, she is portrayed by Brigitte Sy, Garrel's real-life wife.

Although all the actors are first-rate, the best of the bunch is unquestionably ter Steege. Like some latter-day film noir heroine (the film comments on the similarity between this word and its narcotic homonym), the more Marianne edges towards death, the more beautiful she becomes.

J'entends plus la guitare is a posthumous tribute to a magnificent, beloved but ultimately doomed soul. It manages to assume this role without the slightest hint of vulgarity or sensationalism. Such restraint is possible only for the very greatest of filmmakers.