Nothing much going on here.

Unduly neglected, this is Fellini at his most playful and nostalgic. Nevertheless, it is also very enjoyable, and the scene between Ekberg and Mastroianni lifts the movie onto another plane, not only emotionally but as a highly reflective commentary on the meaning of cinema itself, an artistic milieu in which everything is utterly unreal (mere stories and lies), and yet, necessarily, also real, that is, incarnated. The film is also about what died at the moment the age of television was born.