Spring Blossom (Seize printemps)

 

Writer/director/actress Suzanne Lindon

director on the set

SPRING BLOSSOM (Seize printemps)                    B+                                                               France  (73 mi)  2020  ‘Scope  d: Suzanne Lindon

Having worked together in co-writing the Claire Denis film The Fence (Le Cri des Gardes) (2025), Denis acknowledged having known Lindon since she was a little girl, as she is the daughter of frequently used French actor Vincent Lindon, who starred in her films VENDREDI SOIR (2002), 2013 Top Ten List #6 Bastards (Les Salauds), and Both Sides of the Blade (Avec amour et acharnement) (2022), while her mother is French actress Sandrine Kiberlain, from Maïwenn’s Polisse (2011) and André Téchiné’s Being 17 (Quand on a 17 ans) (2016).  What may be most astonishing is that the young first-time director wrote the script when she was just 15, during the summer before she started high school, and then starred in and directed the film at age 19, recalling Xavier Dolan’s 2010 Top Ten Films of the Year: #7 I Killed My Mother (J’ai Tue Ma Mere) (2009), which was written at the age of 16, placing himself in the lead role and then directed at the age of 19, with both films premiering at the Cannes Film Festival.  This is a subversive take on a coming-of-age genre seen through the impressionable eyes of a young Parisian high school girl named Suzanne, played by the director, exploring the turbulence of adolescence and the allure of first love, where the degree of restraint shown here is uncommon.  The fierce independence of the lead character was an attempt by the director to establish her own identity, hoping to claim creative autonomy from her better known parents.  As we witness how curiosity is so essential to development, Lindon wanted to explore the mindset of a young girl who imagines a more intense reality with an older man and longs to grow up quickly, where it’s more about developing a sense of curiosity and wonderment, exploring first love and youthful curiosity through unspoken glances and dance, only to realize the value of her actual age.  Premiering as one of the First Features at Cannes in 2020, when the festival was largely a virtual experience due to the outbreak of Covid, literally getting lost during the pandemic, the film defies expectations, as it’s not at all what we’re used to seeing, as it navigates a young girl’s infatuation with an older 35-year old man named Raphaël, Arnaud Valois from Robin Campillo’s 2017 Top Ten List #8 BPM (Beats Per Minute (120 battements par minute), yet avoids cliché’s, sexual exploitation, and sensationalism and instead embraces the subtleties of curiosity and self-discovery.  Their intimate moments onscreen together are shown with absolute originality.  Sort of the gender opposite of Agnès Varda’s KUNG-FU MASTER! (1988), with Jane Birkin playing a lonely 40-year old mother who develops a tender, unconventional romance with her daughter's 14-year-old classmate, played by Varda’s real-life son, Mathieu Demy, this film stands in stark contrast to the lurid sexual teen exposé of Maurice Pialat’s À Nos Amours (To Our Loves) (1983), where there’s even a poster in her room of the lead 15-year old character Sandrine Bonnaire, also named Suzanne, who uses sex as a means of rebellion and escape, or Catherine Breillat’s 36 Fillette (1988), showing a brazenly sexual affair of a teen girl and an older man.  These films take us back to our early teenage years when we craved anything new, bored by the stifling monotony of everyday life where nothing ever changed, seemingly stuck in time, always searching for something more, but having no idea how to find it, all of which suggests the life of a teenage girl is more complicated than we thought.   

Moved by the performance of River Phoenix in Sidney Lumet’s Running On Empty (1988), this tender and often poetic introspection of the moods and anxieties of teenagers recalls Gia Coppola’s Palo Alto (2013).  With delicately refined intimacy and an understated elegance, though told in a minimalist and understated social realist style, this contemplative coming-of-age romance resembles a documentary, where the details of ordinary life are stifling and oppressive, as Suzanne finds it hard to relate to boys her age, as they’re so immature, lacking anything resembling intelligence or imagination, yet she’s surrounded by them at school, finding it hard to take any of them seriously.  Always on the edge of conversations, not really listening or paying attention to the groups she’s hanging out with, yet still part of the social scene of her adolescent world, Suzanne comes from a book-filled home with liberal parents, including a supportive mother (Florence Viala from la Comédie-Française), and her busy yet affectionate father, Frédéric Pierrot from François Ozon’s Young & Beautiful (Jeune & Jolie) (2013) and By the Grace of God (Grâce à Dieu) (2019), who are very contemporary in their understanding of their daughters, which also includes a more sociable and energetic older sister Marie, Rebecca Marder from Ozon’s The Crime Is Mine (Mon Crime) (2023) and The Stranger (L'étranger) (2025).  Nothing about her life stands out, as she’s apparently bored and unchallenged even while living in the heart of the picturesque Montmartre district in the 18th arrondissement of Paris and rarely goes out, which her family finds a bit odd, yet despite a quiet and studious presence, she does well in school.  Every day on her way to high school, she passes the Théâtre de l’Atelier, often seeing one of the actors sitting out front having a smoke or sitting in the outdoor café, appearing melancholy and as equally disconnected as she is, where she begins to incorporate Raphaël into her life, even if it’s only in her imagination.  In the dense interiority of adolescence, imagination plays a more prominent role, perhaps even surpassing reality, which may be the epitome of the teenage experience.  In one scene, she is seen kissing her reflection in a mirror, in another she watches as his scooter breaks down, or she sneaks into the theater to watch his rehearsals, showing a keen eye for some of the minute details of the performing arts, yet she is literally transported into this new world.  Suddenly immersed in the world of grown-ups and adult choices, Suzanne begins questioning the pitfalls of blossoming too quickly and missing out on life, namely that of a 16-year-old, which she had struggled so much to enjoy in the same way as her peers.  A character study instead of plot-driven film, Lindon doesn’t shy away from the open contradictions, revealing just how intelligent, observant, yet also extremely naïve she is, developing into a romantic fantasy, where this is the antithesis of the way teens are typically portrayed, usually driven by Lolita-esque sexualized desires and self-centered motivations, or creepy predatory behavior from older men, but there’s an elegant sweetness to the very chaste way this plays out, which brings something entirely different to the viewing experience, allowing us to imagine how quietly romantic a first love really can be, in all its innocence and rhapsodic elegance, as we’re literally experiencing what she experiences, where a schoolgirl crush gets viewed as real love.

By the time she decides to sit in the same café at a neighboring table, seemingly caught up in a Boris Vian book she’s reading, drinking a non-alcoholic mix of grenadine and lemonade, it’s impossible for Raphaël not to notice, so it’s only polite that he say something, yet what happens boggles the mind, as it’s not at all what we expect.  The whole thing plays out like a wistful dream, like maybe it happened, or maybe it didn’t, where it’s all about suggesting a mood, yet the character certainly imagines that it happened, and that’s what the viewers experience, as it becomes something positively delightful, a choreographed table dance right out of the Charlie Chaplin catalogue, similar to the Dance of the Dinner Rolls, “The Oceana Roll” scene from THE GOLD RUSH (1925), Bread dance | "The Gold Rush" YouTube (1:31), yet heard over headphones set to the wondrous music of Vivaldi’s Stabat Mater, with a gorgeous song sung by countertenor Andreas Scholl, both closing their eyes while synchronously moving their hands and facial movements to the music like a table ballet, Spring Blossom - Clip (2020) YouTube (3:41).  This completely alters the tone of the film, as we’ve entered imaginary realms, which is where this film lingers for a good portion of time, using synchronized dance numbers and choreographed movement as a physical language to express unspoken emotions and the abstract intensity of young desire.  Suzanne can be seen joyfully skipping and dancing down the street after being invited on her first date, seen miming the lyrics of French singer Christophe’s catchy hit Señorita YouTube (2:54), reminiscent of Léos Carax in Mauvais Sang (Bad Blood) (1986), with Denis Lavant seen stumbling, cart-wheeling, and then sprinting down the street in a blur of sheer exhilaration set to the music of David Bowie’s Modern Love, Mauvais Sang (Leos Carax, 1986) - Modern Love YouTube (5:06), also emulated by Greta Gerwig in Frances Ha [2013] - Dance in the street - YouTube (1:08), each expressing a sudden rush of youthful liberation, one of those giddy outbursts of spontaneous emotion, followed shortly afterwards with Suzanne doing a slow dance with her mother at home.  Despite the obvious age differences, both are dealing with their own personal struggles, as Raphaël is a frustrated stage actor who has grown tired of reciting the same lines night after night, with Lindon focusing on a shared sense of ennui rather than a physical romance, showing no interest in over-sexualizing her, where there’s no sex, nothing creepy, and not even a full-blown kiss, instead utilizing expressive dance sequences to show an emotional connection.  Shot in ‘Scope, cinematographer Jérémie Attard tenderly captures the intensity of these fleeting moments, as Raphaël does little more than gallantly kiss her hand or gently nuzzle her neck, as we watch them contemplatively staring out at the world or at each other, both caught up in their own silent thoughts, with Suzanne abruptly deciding to pull back before things escalate, crying in her mother’s arms afterwards, “I fell in love with an adult.”  This is a different kind of first love movie, subverting all expectations, as not much happens, yet everything happens, if you’re capable of reading the signs, with Lindon herself singing over the end credits in a very distinct French style, which could just as easily have been from movies of the 60’s or 70’s, Seize Printemps - Suzanne Lindon ⌈sub english⌋ YouTube (2:33).

The Fence (Le Cri des Gardes)

 

Director Claire Denis

THE FENCE (Le Cri des Gardes)      B                                                                                 France  Senegal  USA  (109 mi)  2025  d: Claire Denis

Claire Denis goes back to her roots for this one, an adaptation written by Denis, Suzanne Lindon (daughter of frequent Denis actor Vincent Lindon), and Andrew Litvack in an English language version of the 1979 allegorical play by French playwright Bernard-Marie Koltès, who was inspired by Samuel Beckett, that depicts a tense nocturnal confrontation between white managers and black laborers at a British multinational construction site at an isolated, neocolonial outpost in West Africa, where colonial plantations with soldiers have now been replaced by corporate work contracts in a film deeply rooted in symbolism, decidedly more abstract than most of her other work.  During a trip to Lagos, Nigeria in 1978, Koltès witnessed a black workman die at a construction site, an event that drew little concern from the white foremen, which forced him to confront the casual racism and violence that Europeans directed toward Africans.  Denis met Ivory Coast actor Isaach de Bankolé while she was writing the screenplay for her first film Chocolat (1988), which was shot in Cameroon where Denis grew up as the daughter of a French colonial official and starred Bankolé, discovering he was a close friend of the playwright, starring in three of his plays before Koltès died of complications from AIDS in 1989, which is how she discovered his plays, where one in particular stood out in her mind, Black Battles with Dog, as it connected to her childhood of growing up in Africa.  In Nigeria, specifically a construction site, Koltès discovered English is spoken between whites and blacks, where the excessive politeness and distinct use of the word “sir” belies the racist anger and hidden violence that lies underneath the surface just simmering to explode.  Denis is a French director who spent much of her childhood in West and Central Africa colonial outposts, which deeply influences her films, exploring themes of colonialism, isolation, and the complex relationships between Europeans and the African continent, where this is her fourth film set in Africa, including Chocolat (1988), a semi-autobiographical depiction of her childhood in colonial Cameroon, Beau Travail (1999), visually exploring the rigid, ritualistic lives of the French Foreign Legion, confined to their base in Djibouti on the northeast African coast, and White Material (2009), where Isabelle Huppert plays a stubborn French coffee farmer refusing to flee her colonial land during a civil uprising from an unnamed, war-torn African country.  Continually subverting expectations, what these films have in common is native black African cultures being wiped out by white European influences, fueled by hypocrisy and corruption, often through racist male privilege and toxic masculinity, which runs rampant throughout this film, with a Tindersticks musical cue taken from her earlier film WHITE MATERIAL, Tindersticks "Children's Theme" -- Claire Denis Film Scores ... YouTube (2:04), that plays over the end credits, eloquently described by Denis, “This piece of music broke my heart at that time,” noting that using it “once was not enough,” Watchtowers in the Wilderness: Claire Denis on “The Fence”.    

The film opens poetically with an African mother laying a palm leaf on a pool of blood in the desert sand, while there’s also CGI references of a snarling white dog viciously attacking pieces of human organs.  Two African brothers lay shirtless in the sand side by side, but only one appears to be alive, Alboury (Isaach de Bankolé), evoking a parable about a biting dog before concluding, “White man’s fantasy are the black man’s nightmare.”  Following themes of racism, colonialism, and gender, this is a film that dares to confront uncomfortable truths about Western exploitation and power dynamics, as we are introduced to a non-local white engineer named Cal (Tom Blyth), seen driving a truck while boisterously singing along to a Midnight Oil song from the 80’s, Midnight Oil - Beds Are Burning (Official Video), HD ... YouTube (4:33), a rock anthem on Aboriginal land rights that asks, “How do we sleep while our beds are burning?”  We soon find ourselves in a massive industrial refinery outpost of strung-together shipping containers and looming oil drums surrounded by barbed wire, with armed guard towers watching over, where the African guards speak to one another in the Yoruba language, which is fairly widespread in West Africa, but completely indecipherable to most whites living there.  The stage is set with the introduction of a world-weary construction supervisor Horn (Matt Dillon, a close friend of Isaach de Bankolé), who out of the corner of his eye sees an African man smartly dressed in a suit and tie pacing just on the other side of the fence, Alboury, who speaks Yoruba with the guards, allowing him entrance through the first gate, portrayed with a quiet intensity, announcing he’s there to claim the body of his brother, Nouofia.  The ever-evasive Horn, a picture of colonial arrogance, claims he died in a construction accident, an all-too-common occurrence, but it’s a horrible tragedy, cordially inviting the man to join him for a whisky where they can discuss the matter.  But Alboury does not budge, politely refusing the offer, claiming he wants the body as soon as possible as their mother is in mourning, crying and wailing relentlessly, which he aims to stop by bringing the body.  Horn is willing to accommodate his request, even offering a small sum of money, described as “funds of retribution,” but not until the next day, which Alboury deems unacceptable, as Western style negotiations are worthless with someone who is fluent in the language of oppression.  The entire film surrounds this non-negotiable impasse, with the film’s title operating on multiple levels, with a visible fence that separates the construction facility from the surrounding community, but the larger barriers are invisible, reflected internally by each of the characters, as the film shifts from the filmmaker’s usual impressionistic style to a more direct approach.

Like Jean Genet and other absurdist writers, Koltès felt exiled as a homosexual in a heterosexual world, while also growing painfully aware of his own skin color and the repressive history and the power structure it represents in Africa, where land and resources were plundered by European colonial powers, completely ignoring native interests and cultures, fueled by centuries-old racist beliefs that blacks were ignorant and subhuman.  The dangerous and unpredictable Cal is seen again picking up a woman at the airport, Léonie (Mia McKenna-Bruce), Horn’s recent wife arriving from London, adding further psychological strain to the volatile environment.  A lone woman in an all-male landscape, much like Isabelle Huppert in White Material (2009), she quickly becomes an object of desire, whose mere presence is provocative enough, but her revealing attire and stiletto heels add another layer of intrigue and sexual tension, as the men see only one thing – sex, with an always condescending Cal drinking the couple’s celebratory marital champagne while continually pestering her and nonchalantly coming on to her, even in the presence of his boss who sent for her, like the mail-order bride in François Truffaut’s MISSISSIPPI MERMAID (1969).  Cal represents the archetypal racist colonizer, whose violent rage is activated by Nouofia’s perceived disrespect by wanting to leave an hour before closing time, and later, when he sees Horn negotiating with Alboury, he worries that the foreman will sell him out for the deadly way he handled it, where even the idea of his boss listening to a black man pisses him off.  Examining the racial root of this barbaric act of violence shows the lengths men will go to in order to make a bad situation even worse, where the opening dream sequence features Cal’s lost dog.  Shot in Senegal by Éric Gautier, the longtime cinematographer for Olivier Assayas and Alain Resnais, while also shooting the two previous Denis films, Both Sides of the Blade (Avec amour et acharnement) (2022) and Stars at Noon (2022), this can be read as a fable about the evils of neocolonialism, yet there’s still plenty of underlying poetry, worlds of ambivalence, and multiple layers of ambiguity.  The slow-moving film is about an encounter built on desire, hatred, and frustration among three men and a woman divided by everything, as there’s simply no place for her there, which becomes apparent almost immediately, as the fortress-like look of the place resembles a prison, keeping natives from intruding, yet also keeping those residing there trapped inside, amplifying the psychological tension.  This is a dialogue-heavy, tense study of space and shifting power dynamics between white occupiers and black laborers, where the fence in the film acts as a border between the privileged white compound and the local African workers, representing deeply ingrained systems of post-colonial exploitation.

Set in a largely abandoned construction site where they pave roads through the bush for economic development, with bulldozers and hastily constructed barracks, the atmosphere, unfolding mostly at night, is dreamlike, deeply psychological, bordering on the supernatural.  At night, the guards, all of them black carrying automatic weapons, in order to keep themselves from falling asleep, would call out to one another with strange melodic sounds, which is what made Denis decide to call it The Cry of the Guards (Le Cris des Gardes), the first adaptation of a play and the first movie she ever shot in sequence, mostly defined by a nocturnal space, which she believes best suits what Koltès had in mind.  Koltès understood that writing in the name of Africans would redouble the colonizer’s violence, so instead he presents Alboury as the colonizer’s nightmare, one who answers the most human call for mourning, but who ends as a powerful and uncompromising avenger against white oppression.  While the workers try to normalize the death, claiming it’s something that happens all the time, Alboury’s refusal to capitulate to the white demands alters our perception, forcing viewers to look beneath the surface, as this begins to feel more and more like a cover up, with echoes of Greek tragedy, as Alboury’s spectral-like presence acts like a Greek Chorus, like a persistent force of moral consciousness, eventually viewed by his white counterparts as an act of aggression, bringing to bear something that doesn’t really exist within the compound, namely any sense of justice.  This takes the film into deeper philosophical levels, becoming a morality play, where the outsider, Léonie, learns as we learn, as it’s not at all what she was led to believe, including the man she presumably loves, discovering she is completely unprepared for this environment, as she watches the disaster play out before her in a haunted space filled with a mix of desire and terror.  There are any number of different directions that might be imagined in our heads as we’re watching this, but the film refuses to abide by convention, feeling more like a poetic allegory, with Horn and Cal managing their own fears and isolation, which immediately brings to mind Valerio Zurlini’s film THE DESERT OF THE TARTARS (1976), which is about the relentless psychological torment from an outpost on the edge of nowhere where an isolated platoon sits awaiting the threat of attack from an unseen enemy.  Haunted by a lurking dread of an impending sense of doom, Horn and Cal are exacerbated by a similar fear of the unknown, psychologically projecting their own fears into the minds of others, which eats at the inner core of these men who literally unravel before our eyes, living in a world abandoned by time.