Call me the Christopher Hitchens of movie fanatics. I wish not to spit in your eye, beloved cineaste pantheon, but I must state: Zzzzzzzz. “L’Atalante” made me and my parents (neither of ’em slouches either in the film buff category) antsy and squirm for the end. Not that it was altogether bad. . . just not that great. I argued that anything made in 1934 deserved some slack — mom then started to list the great films of the era that didn’t make us scratch our heads. The Papa Jules character was entertaining, but not enough to save this. I give this a gentleman’s “C” and now will take angry emails from the audience.