Anaïs in Love (Les amours d'Anaïs)

 

Writer/director Charline Bourgeois-Tacquet

The director with Anaïs Demoustier

Anaïs Demoustier on the set

ANAÏS IN LOVE (Les amours d'Anaïs)       B-                                                                           France  (98 mi)  2021  d: Charline Bourgeois-Tacquet

Love is in the air and spring flowers are in bloom, where this whirlwind drama is about a rush of excitement, where every last breath is a cause célèbre, rushing about with no rhyme or reason, but rushing anyway, because it’s all about the restlessness of youth, racing headfirst into the future, where everything that’s come before is doubted and questioned in this manic search for finding something new.  A frenetic, adrenaline-based comic drama that thrives on a kind of 30’s screwball comedy style, heavily infused with romanticism, leading to a lesbian love affair where everything else is set to the side, as living in that moment, living life to the fullest, is all that matters.  Centered around one central character, Charline Bourgeois-Tacquet has written her first feature as a kind of formulaic love-on-the-run reverie, almost a parody of French films, somewhat inspired by rewatching Truffaut’s Stolen Kisses (Baisers volés) (1968), specifically the awkwardness of Jean-Pierre Léaud’s youthful transgressions, and Claude Sautet’s romantic ménage-à-trois in César and Rosalie (César et Rosalie) (1972), becoming a tribute to Anaïs, played by Anaïs Demoustier, who also starred in her short film PAULINE ASSERVIE (2018), which serves as the genesis of her role as a young idealistic student in pursuit of something she has yet to define.  Nonetheless she’s running furiously towards an unknown future that awaits only her, as no one else matters, hurtling through lovers with a reckless abandon, leaving them breathlessly wondering what just happened, becoming a life filled with romantic expectations that are never met, never stopping to comprehend, as only the next moment can possibly bring her the happiness she so desperately seeks.  Reason be damned, as nothing in this has to make sense, as there are no consequences for her erratic decisions, instead it’s all about the swirl of possibilities, where being young, free-spirited, and impulsive is like a titillating tease, where exploring every awaiting moment with that mad rush of anticipation becomes the be-all and end-all for this film, bearing some resemblance to the anxiously neurotic, compulsively indecisive Greta Gerwig character in Noah Baumbach’s Frances Ha (2012), or the rhythmical whimsy of the adorably likeable Audrey Tatou in AMÉLIE (2001), while Sally Hawkins also comes to mind in Mike Leigh’s Happy-Go-Lucky (2008).  What these films share is not just a female protagonist, but the curiosity their characters express, where it’s a significant shift in focus to see women exploring their own desires rather than be the object of male desire.  Obviously not for everyone, as some will be completely disgusted by the utterly selfish, self-obsessed, and manipulative behavior on display, resembling the same infantile antics of the heavily praised Jean-Pierre Léaud, yet illustrative of the narcissism of today’s privileged white elite, but there’s no moralizing in this film, as Anaïs casually disregards everyone with equal disdain, thinking only of herself at all times, lost in a self-induced cloud of confusion that’s really just a smokescreen for avoiding the banality of existence, where at the core of this comedy is an existential farce about life’s possibilities.  After all, what are Vladimir and Estragon waiting for in Beckett’s Waiting for Godot?  And does it really matter, as the space they fill becomes a dramatically compelling theater-of-the-absurd that lends itself to a philosophical dawning of a new age, as something is always waiting around the next corner.     

Featuring faces we have seen before, Anaïs Demoustier from François Ozon’s The New Girlfriend (Une nouvelle amie) (2014), initially discovered by Michael Haneke in Time of the Wolf (Le Temps du Loup) (2003), Denis Podalydès from Christophe Honoré’s Sorry Angel (Plaire, aimer et courir vite) (2018), though he’s part of the explosive fireworks in Arnaud Desplechin’s dialogue-driven MY SEX LIFE…OR HOW I GOT INTO AN ARGUMENT (1996), and Valeria Bruni Tedeschi from Bruno Dumont’s Slack Bay (Ma Loute) (2016) and François Ozon’s Summer of '85 (Été 85) (2020), though she was a powerhouse in Noémie Lvovsky’s stormy relationship drama, FORGET ME (Oublie-moi) (1994), each one filling the screen with a kind of fairy tale story that explores what love can make some people do.  Premiering at Critics’ Week at Cannes in 2021, the American release came a year later without much fanfare, viewed as that typically French bourgeois drama that fits every cliché, but has a way of effortlessly displaying that effusive French charm, turning into a breezy comedy that subverts mainstream expectations by veering into lesbian exotica.  Opening with a breathless blur set to the racing piano of Nicola Piovani’s score, Bourgeois-Tacquet sets the tone with a feverish set-up that continually races against time, resembling the frenzied energy of Tom Tykwer’s Run Lola Run (Lolo Rennt) (1998), as Anaïs is a woman in a hurry, running everywhere, is habitually late, and offers excuses in exasperatingly sped-up, mile-a-minute outbursts,  ANAÏS IN LOVE - "Being in a couple is too hard" YouTube (2:47), echoing the White Rabbit’s frantic utterance from Disney’s ALICE IN WONDERLAND (1951), Alice in Wonderland - I'm late - YouTube (42 seconds), where viewers have to recalibrate their conventional sensibilities for the absurdist world that awaits them.  Already in her 30’s, instead of figuring things out by now, her life makes even less sense, caught between having to deal with responsibilities, condescending men, and thankless jobs, so instead celebrates the constant chaos around her with teenage-like carelessness.  She’s a literature student who is never seen studying, blithely avoiding due dates by perpetually putting off her doctoral dissertation, is months behind on her rent, but blames it on a failed relationship where she became bored and kicked out a boyfriend that she was relying upon to pay his share of the rent, now left in limbo suggesting there’s no possible way she can pay it now, where we continually see her avoid adversities before running off to her next adventure, hardly attributes for sustaining any longterm relationship.  Relying upon her youthful charm and beauty while following her impetuous desires is reminiscent of those endearing Éric Rohmer comedies of the 80’s and 90’s, especially the literary references and the sophisticated yet scatterbrained dialogue spoken at breakneck speed.  When her mother (Anne Canovas) encourages her to take a job at a publishing company to meet interesting people, Anaïs brazenly responds, “I don’t want to meet interesting people.  I want to be interesting.”  Whether or not you think she succeeds may depend upon your tolerance for this kind of excessive display of self-absorbed narcissism, where it’s kind of like watching a kid in a candy store bouncing off the walls in a sugar rush.

There is a surprising change of tone when her mother, who she adores, announces her cancer that had been in remission for years has returned with ominous implications, sending Anaïs into a dizzying headspin, this time running to the nearest beach for a swim (we should all be so lucky), yet the choice of accompanying music is such an overly dramatic turn, perhaps the most operatic song associated with death, that it feels comical in its brazenly melodramatic overreach, Anaïs in Love (2021) - the scene with Purcell's Dido's Lament YouTube (2:10).  The choice of locations in this film is stunning, however, mixing the sun and the sea alongside the Côtes-d’Armor and Pays de la Loire coastlines, literally exuding in radiant summer color, immaculately shot by Noé Bach, accentuating the luminosity of the naturalistic settings, not so much the darkened interiors that feel more cramped and claustrophobic, with suggestions of a darker turn of fate that never really happens.  After breezily dumping her boyfriend Raoul (Christophe Montenez) on the street, who describes her as a social bulldozer, exhibiting no tact whatsoever, literally plowing over people, she moves on to Daniel (Denis Podalydès) an older, middle-aged book publisher that she meets at a party, having a brief fling, but she’s struck by a picture of his wife Emilie (Valeria Bruni Tedeschi), seen only from behind, exactly like Céline Sciamma’s erotic lesbian drama, 2019 Top Ten List #2 Portrait of a Lady On Fire (Portrait de la jeune fille en feu), yet also Hitchcock’s Rebecca (1940), or Preminger’s Laura (1944).  The more she hears the more she likes, as time suddenly slows down, enamored by the lipstick and perfume she finds placed around the bathroom sink, discovering she’s a novelist, mirroring her own interests, dropping Daniel in a heartbeat and making a beeline to a literary symposium at the prestigious Château de Kerduel, a picturesque Brittany setting on a lake surrounded by a forest, where she finds some excuse to meet her, ANAÏS IN LOVE - "You're very beautiful" YouTube (1:49) before joining her later in an erotic dance, Gli amori di Anaïs - Clip "Gli occhi di Bette Davis" - YouTube (1:37).  Making it a habit to run into her, at the expense of her own studies, her mother’s illness, or paying the rent, accidentally on purpose sitting next to her in a movie screening, where there’s a delightful movie-within-a-movie moment seeing the wondrous Gena Rowlands onscreen in Cassavetes’ Opening Night (1977), lost in her own zany quest for self-discovery, before inviting her the next day for a swim on the beach.  Wandering through a stunningly gorgeous coastline to get there, ANAIS IN LOVE - Closer by the Coast YouTube (2:16), breasts are exposed and kisses lead to inflamed passions on the beach, ANAIS IN LOVE - "I Want to Kiss You" YouTube (1:53), a significantly different female stylization than Kechiche’s male-driven Blue Is the Warmest Color (La Vie d'Adèle, Chapitres 1 et 2) (2013), resembling some wildly erotic romance novel (lewd drawings are discovered in a hidden closet) where an older and younger woman awaken long-repressed desires, a supposed pathway to a personal road to freedom and discovery.  In this breezy and lighthearted mix of the male and female gaze, sex is only for the beautiful, as Anaïs gleefully follows her instincts and steamrolls her way into the future.

A Summer's Tale (Conte d'été)

Éric Rohmer meets with his cast on the seaside location of Dinard

 

A SUMMER’S TALE (Conte d'été)                 A               
from Rohmer’s Tales of the Four Seasons

France  (113 mi)  1996  d:  Éric Rohmer

While this is not generally considered among the major works of Rohmer, the third of his Contes des quatre saisons (Tales of the Four Seasons, 1990–98), described as “mid-level Rohmer,” as generally his Contes moraux (Six Moral Tales, 1963–72) receive the highest praise, with An Autumn Tale (Conte D’Automne (1998) considered the best of the Four Seasons, one might argue, however, that the critics got it wrong.  Never released in the United States until now, as for some strange reason they were never able to negotiate acceptable distribution agreements, so despite being released in Un Certain Regard at Cannes in 1996, few outside of France have actually seen this film.  In fact, according to Box Office/Business from IMDb, only 175,000 customers in France saw the film the year it was released, so certainly the film is due for a reappraisal.  Rohmer was a literature teacher, novelist, magazine editor, and film critic, where he was ten years older than any of the other young film critics in the Cahiers du Cinéma group of François Truffaut, Jean-Luc Godard, Claude Chabrol, and Jacques Rivette, all writers before subsequently becoming the founding filmmakers of the French New Wave, joining the staff in 1951 when Rohmer had already taught literature at school, published a novel Elizabeth (1946) under the pseudonym Gilbert Cordier, and spent three years as a film critic with such prestigious journals as La Revue du Cinéma and Sartre's Les Temps modernes. 

Rohmer shot his first film JOURNAL D’UN SCÉLÉRAT (1950) the same year he founded Gazette du Cinema along with Godard and Rivette before joining André Bazin’s film journal at Cahiers, serving as editor-in-chief from 1956 to 1963, a group whose function was watching and writing about films screened by Henri Langlois and his Paris Cinémathèque.  Perhaps in contrast to the condescension shown to film criticism in America, which was often at odds with a culture that considered cinema a second rate form of entertainment, the French, and Europeans in general, wholeheartedly embraced their artists, putting it on the same level as their own intellectual and artistic pursuits, finding cinema a form of expression to be taken seriously.  Rohmer’s films may show more in common with the preceding generation of Renoir and Bresson (Introduction to Bresson) than the young guns of Cahiers, but by the end of his career, the director left behind the term Rohmer-esque to describe spare, dialogue-driven films about relationships between men and women, often presented as parts of a multi-episodic series, exploring the awkward romantic entanglements, emotional turmoil, and moral dilemmas that develop between characters who are often amusingly caught between two or more objects of desire.  Rohmer’s distinct style can be seen in the work of directors from Arnaud Desplechin and Olivier Assayas to Woody Allen and Richard Linklater.

In my mind at least, this is in the realm of best Rohmer film, rivaling even the classic My Night at Maud's (Ma Nuit Chez Maud) (1969) for that elevated territory.  The film makes the best use of locations of any Rohmer film since his first feature, The Sign of Leo (Le signe du lion) (1959), a bleak, black and white near documentary film where the city itself stands for the doomed protagonist’s deteriorating state of mind, where poverty is shown to have a debilitating effect, as the normally welcoming City of Lights turns into a nightmarish world of utter indifference.  In stark contrast, this couldn’t be a brighter, sunnier film, uniquely opening in a wordless ten-minute sequence as we watch the introverted Gaspard (a young Melvil Poupard is literally perfect for the part, as no Rohmer character is better suited as a stand-in for the director) arrive on the ferry boat and wander alone through the streets of Dinard, a picturesque Brittany seaside resort town.  While the setting is divine, overlooking a sandy beach filled with holiday revelers enjoying the ocean air, Gaspard sits in his room playing guitar, eats various street offerings or at local restaurants, but generally avoids contact with others.  He’s quickly recognized on the beach by a waitress that served him the day before, Margot, Amanda Langlet from PAULINE AT THE BEACH (1983), who cheerfully asks him to join her.  While she sees him as a lonesome puppy dog off his leash, shy, and in need of companionship, Gaspard avoids several social invitations, preferring instead to sit home and explore his music. 

Rohmer uses a day-by-day chapter heading like diary entries, showing the significance of time passing, as they grow fond of each other while developing trust, where they appear to be able to tell each other their innermost secrets, where Margot’s in love with a man who’s off in the South Seas working for the Peace Corps, while Gaspard’s sweetheart Lena may or may not be his girlfriend, as he’s not sure how much she likes him, but he came to Dinard hoping to run into her, but she hasn’t written or left her address, leaving him in a state of limbo.  Days pass as they go on long scenic hikes by the sea, also visiting nearby Saint Malo and Saint Lunaire, sensuously photographed by cinematographer Diane Baratier, where she’s as gregarious and open as he is guarded and reserved, showing more maturity and self-assured poise, reminding  him “It’s easier to be yourself with a friend than with a lover.  You don’t have to pretend.”  Her overall presence seems to anchor the film emotionally and provide needed stability, despite having a few changes of heart herself, but she objects to being used as the second or third option, the safe fallback position, the last choice after the others have been exhausted, where she’s viewed as the leftovers.  What sets this apart from other Rohmer films is the ease in which these actors play their parts, especially Poupard and Langlet, as the performances have never seemed so comfortable, without an ounce of the pretentiousness that seems to plague so many other characters throughout his work, as their awkwardness and fickle changeability completely suits the indecisiveness of youth.     

Stylistically this resembles the long tracking shots of extended conversations that develop while walking, thriving on the spontaneity of the moment in Richard Linklater’s Before Trilogy, Before Sunrise (1995), Before Sunset (2004), and Before Midnight (2013).  This is one of the more spontaneous Rohmer films as well, where humor is much more prevalent.  With Margot having a sunny disposition and a PhD in ethnography, they develop a comfortable kind of platonic intimacy, where she reminds him “I’m comfortable with everyone.  It’s my training,” while Gaspard grows moody and deeper into self-loathing, becoming downright morose, pouting “Since no one loves me, I don’t love anyone,” claiming he hates groups, but enjoys people’s company one at a time.  This film borders on the brooding, existential territory of Bresson’s Four Nights of a Dreamer (Quatre nuits d'un rêveur) (1971), showing how isolated and self-absorbed kids can be during the innocence of youth, where they’re still discovering who they are and what they believe in, not sure yet how they fit into society, yet ready impulsively to make that leap.  Margot invites him to come along when she meets an old Newfoundlander sailor (Aimé Lefèvre), a guy familiar with the Celtic history of Brittany who’s spent his life at sea, singing them a sea shanty where music, as it does in the Bresson film, seems to have an intoxicating effect, not only bringing these two characters closer but inspiring Gaspard to go home and write a similar song. 

At the urging of Margot, who senses Gaspard’s growing restlessness, she introduces him to a local friend Solène (Gwenaëlle Simon), a girl Gaspard previously avoided claiming she was not “his type,” whose beauty and confidence in herself both intimidates and enthralls him, changing gears in midstream, offering her all of his attention, going all-in so to speak, riding the wave of spontaneity.  He teaches her the love song he just wrote that expresses the fierce individualism of a pirate’s daughter embracing the spirit of an all-encompassing love as she sails the seas, giving her the song he actually wrote for Lena (who still hasn’t shown up yet), joining her family for an afternoon boat ride where they all sing together in unison accompanied by an accordion player, where this may be the centerpiece of the film, where art achieves an almost perfect harmony.  But just as the kissing begins and at the moment for them to consummate their newfound love, she introduces certain relationship principles, among which includes never sleeping with a guy on the first date.  Instead they make plans (as he did with Margot) to visit the scenic isle of Ouessant, which takes on an almost mythical quality in this film, thought of as a land where dreams come true.  In the course of a week, Gaspard promises to go to there with all three women, as out of the blue Lena (Aurélia Nolin) shows up, full of excuses, evasive when it comes to the idea of commitments, or even meeting at a designated time, just leaving him in the lurch, without a word, yet expecting his full and undivided attention afterwards. 

Lena is easily the most childish of the three, a blond who is also the most pampered and overprotected, where one day she loves you, the next day she avoids you, driving Gaspard a little crazy, who’s already completely indecisive about what to do.  While he’s most faithful to Margot, but sex is out of the question, or so he believes, yet he can’t say no to Solène, who literally forces him to choose her when she wants him, but falls upon her “principles” apparently to avoid sex.  Lena lives in a fantasy world where Gaspard can’t find a place, much as he’d love to, where she insists that he act in a certain way towards her, always at her beck and call, and if he can’t do that then he can only lead to disappointment.  Men as a social group are dumped on by these women, and rightly so, as Gaspar can’t commit to any of them, so he plays the field, hoping for the best outcome.  Rohmer, in his seventies when he made this film, brings together these fits of youthful indecision with remarkable clarity and humor, showing love to be a walking contradiction where the closer you get to it, the farther it is away, like a fickle mirage.  Expressing warmth toward all his characters, Rohmer has cleverly delivered one of his most delightfully charming films, where it doesn’t have that sense of melancholy that lingers over many of his other films, but instead features a rapturous view of youthful exuberance, disguised as it is in secrets and ulterior motives that are constantly evolving, yet like the musical theme, retains a sunny optimism for life that is positively enchanting.