Half of Claire Denis' hypnotic new movie is spent in traffic, the other half in bed. Based on a novel by Emmanuelle Bernheim, the story follows the self-discovery of a woman (Valerie Lemercier) over the course of a single rainy Paris night.

Laure (Lemercier) is about to move in with her boyfriend, but on her way, she gets stuck in traffic: because of a metro strike, the streets are overwhelmed. Laure, a slave to the traffic light, does what the radio announcer recommends and offers a ride to a stranger (Vincent Lindon.)

As the night drags on and traffic grinds to a halt, all rules in the constipated city seem suspended. Denis' camera stays close-up on details, hands on steering wheels, faces passing behind rainy, fogged-up windshields, the glare of headlights. Together with its wistful soundtrack and the lilting rhythms of its own slow fades, the film creates a dreamlike state.

Later, as the night grows stranger and possibility gives way to actuality, Denis' impressionist style focuses on the sensual brush of silk against thighs, fingers running through hair, the taste of cold water, naked feet on the hotel carpet. In her car, Laure keeps a tape of Prince's "Parade," the music to the unjustly forgotten film "Under the Cherry Moon." Prince's over-the-top romanticism is a very much at home with the lovely intimacy of "Friday Night."

By the end, very little has happened, and yet so much: Paris and the world have been rediscovered, made magic once again. It should be said that "Friday Night" doesn't give up its pleasures freely: it takes patience to open up to its pleasures. The film's wonderful final scene is a generous pay-off.