by Joe Hammerschmidt
[NOTE: This film reviewed as part of the 2018 Seattle International Film Festival]
One of the key cinematic hallmarks I felt overly intrigued by during this year’s SIFF was an increased appreciation for the film culture of France. While I don’t necessarily know enough about their global impact on the film industry, and while I’d still be hard-pressed to voluntarily indulge in one outside of a massive festival, when there are enough people in a room willing to appreciate the work put in, the shared contentment can be felt all the way back to the land of expert wines, music, and architecture. Of two standout French pieces, Let the Sunshine In bears the most resemblance to a confusing enigma, one with a grounded airiness on accounts of its lead actress, the transatlantically renowned Juliette Binoche, and its director Claire Denis (Bastards, White Material). Despite not knowing either of their past works too well, the story they’re telling is as universal as any American film. A lovelorn woman struggles with the ins and outs of romance, a common trope, but looking far more subtle and methodical in execution with a French perspective. The results, however, are only nominal in improvements. It’s still a little bit messy, but then again isn’t love a little bit of the same?
Recent divorcee Isabelle (Binoche) is facing a small period of denial as the final piece of legalese is being handled, shedding a piece of her maturity in favor of a string one-night stands. Call it her desperate attempt at adapting to romantic relationships in the present decade, left to the fates to determine whether anything will stick or not. Among the Rolodex of promising mates, there’s a stage-friendly actor (Nicolas Duvauchelle), a rather excitable chap; an esteemed banking expert and single dad (Xavier Beauvois); and a loose friend in the art scene (Alex Descas), who all steal her heart one way or another, only leaving Isabelle to strike out at the first sign of a wrinkle in the human bond.
Denis, co-writing with playwright Christine Angot have crafted a fair portrayal of a womanly mid-life crisis, embracing the inadvertent struggles that pair with the one-note sweetness. Speaking in terms of its tone, it’s not always consistent, responding with the shifts in Isabelle’s own mind. Structurally, not much happens that’s far too exciting, nor does the existing plot stay on a linear path, broken up into specific moods to correspond with each of Isabelle’s dates. I’m willing to let that slide, given the cultural differences in storytelling, but it did still make the film seem longer than it actually was.
Isabelle is drawn up as an inherently flawed individual, unashamedly relatable, regardless of the story flaws. That could be chalked up to Binoche flowing with all those emotional changes with the greatest ease and grace. Sympathetic, yet intrigued; excited, yet also anxious; exasperated, yet willingly confident. She doesn’t hesitate to share her deepest feelings, never settling for anything aside from the truth. That all makes her the constant against of a rolling tide of imperfections, preventing the film from flourishing more than it can accomplish in its modest runtime, again mistakes slowing down the activity notwithstanding.
Perhaps, the way it slows down should be taken as an analytical study of humanity’s determination not to fall into the trap of a boring existence. It’s always possible we’re stepping deep into Isabelle’s shoes to better understand our own existence, which can’t always be perfect, but the moments of highest sincerity may be some of our more cherished memories. Chief among these seen throughout, the most effective use in any film of Etta James’ “At Last”, in a nightclub dance scene shown very physically as well as emotionally, and shot so creatively at the hand of DP Agnes Godard (When the Day Had No Name).
All this desperation appears to build up to one of the more divisive single scenes of any film released on US screens so far in 2018, an extended epilogue that runs over the credits (quite perfectly, with every audience member I sat with so transfixed in those final minutes), where Isabella fancies a chance encounter with a psychiatrist (performed expertly by the French acting giant Gerard Depardieu), where she is too quick to confess her strife and consider her options, while he listens and interjects when needed. That final back-and-forth may be unrivaled as possibly near the top of my list for the year’s best film moments, a buoyant representation of artistic integrity that I simply couldn’t make out at the beginning.
Did I enjoy Let the Sunshine In? Not completely, I knew some portions would be lost to me from the cultural translations. What I can still recall from the first viewing, with a packed afternoon festival crowd, stands out with much fondness for the work, and for its potential lasting legacy as a French-originated arthouse flick. Others may see it as far, far more, owing to Binoche’s standout performance, and the way Denis is striving to extract every ounce of soul from her actors. It was nonetheless an enthralling introduction to such a fascinating female filmmaker, her stylistic quirks, and her way of making a story last forever. Like essentially all the other new films debuting in Seattle this weekend, this one may be worth an immediate second look if only to pick up just a teensy bit more on those amazing nuances of note. (B-)
Let the Sunshine In plays for one week at the SIFF Film Center beginning tonight, 6/29; film not rated; 94 minutes.
