Someone brought their ~9 year old (!) daughter to this screening. Judging by the throaty giggles which erupted from the front of the theater during Julie's magicienne-burlesque parody act, I'd say she not only "got it" but was 100% on its wavelength. That is righteous parenting, folks.
Go read the first two pages of Farber's Kitchen Without Kitsch for the dope.
I relate a lot to the way Akerman relates to: cities; her mother; subway stations; long-(shot)-distance love; alienation; diary filmmaking; framing; leaving half the work to chance; color value changes brought on by unexpected shifts in light; the worry that semi-confrontational acknowledgment from strangers is more fulfilling than intimate conversations with family; being repulsed by intimate conversations with family; craving intimate conversations with family; not knowing how to begin or sustain intimate conversations with family; a life of quiet jubilation; foreigner's anonymity; catlike semi-independence; the mutual sizing up of cameraperson and subject; streetwatching; so on. I love her, man.