Perhaps in his native France auteur Vadim has the sort of notoriety (""The Devil of the cinema, this Devil so often mentioned by the journalists"") that this free-form sketchbook of pallid recollections seems to count on. Here we know him for And God Created Woman and Les Liaisons Dangereuses--and lesser subsequents--and for being momentary husband to B. Bardot and J. Fonda. BB (""She saw life with me as a cake called happiness"") he lost to Jean-Louis Trintignant, Fonda (""beautiful and sensitive and vulnerable and divine"" till she caught a case of ""nonidentity"") to the New Left, and the wife in between, actress Annette V., to a pop singer: ""I cannot decide whether it is more distressing to lose one's wife to a guitar player or to a noble idea."" Whether overstating the influence of the Nouvelle Vague on Hollywood, lumping Olivier's Richard III and Gable's Rhett Butler together to prove the importance of star-personality (as opposed to acting), or shuddering at the price of fame ("". . . they think they have bought you. They. "") Vadim always seems a bit out of touch and a bit too eager to philosophize about love, suffering, ESP, and California. Despite those wives--and appearances by Catherine Deneuve (mistress), Ursula Andress (platonic bed-sharer), and Frank Sinatra (""completely merciless""), titillation-seekers will be mightily disappointed. And despite touches of humor, talk of deep feelings, and traces of a (perhaps untranslatable) Russo-Gallic charm, Vadim comes out icy and smug and about as devilish as Eric Sevareid.