trailer: Violette

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Violette Leduc, born a bastard at the beginning of last century, meets Simone de Beauvoir in the years after the war in St-Germain-des-Prés. Then begins an intense relationship between the two women that will last throughout their lives, relationship based on the quest for freedom by writing to Violet and conviction for Simone to have in their hands the fate of an extraordinary writer. (Imdb)

CRITICA:

COSÌ prolifico da aver dato origine a festival (vedi il Biografilm, che si è svolto proprio questo mese a Bologna), il film biografico non è materia facile da trattare. Spesso dà origine – per rispetto, deferenza o semplice conformismo – a pellicole noiose e prevedibili. Però ci sono eccezioni: come questo Violette.
Opera di un regista, Martin Provost, già autore di una bella biografia della pittrice Séraphine de Senlis, il film si concentra su Violette Leduc, scrittrice di razza dalla fama al di sotto dei suoi effettivi meriti, seguendola nella sua travagliata vicenda umana e psicologica, di donna appassionata e piena di ossessioni, portatrice di un’imbarazzante tendenza a rendersi insopportabile per troppo bisogno d’amore. Il film copre un arco temporale che va dalla guerra (quando Violette viveva assieme al presunto marito, lo scrittore omosessuale Maurice Sachs) agli anni Sessanta, al tempo dell’amicizia tra lei e Simone de Beauvoir, dell’emergente questione femminista e delle lotte combattute dal “secondo sesso”. La Beauvoir farà pubblicare il suo romanzo “L’asfissia”ma non servirà a trarre dall’oscurità la neo-scrittrice, che cade in una depressione esaltata dal fatto che, mentre lei è innamorata dell’altra, Simone non intende superare i confini dell’amicizia. Il film percorre le altre relazioni di Violette – con la madre adorata e detestata, con amici perlopiù omosessuali, con amanti di entrambi i sessi – senza che la pena alla solitudine e alla (auto) esclusione le sia condonata. Compaiono nel film personaggi della storia letteraria del Novecento, Jean Genet (Jean-Paul Sartre, è solo nominato) o il profumiere- mecenate Jacques Guérin, interpretato dal bravo Olivier Gourmet. Più tardi, sempre col sostegno di Beauvoir, Leduc può pubblicare il suo “La bastarda” (la scrittrice soffriva per essere una illegittima), dove racconta vicende molto intime della propria vita.
Costruito per capitoli, con larghe ellissi temporali e molti momenti “sospesi”, il film si muove sul delicato confine tra arte e vita senza scivolare mai nell’agiografia. Provost gioca le sue carte migliori affidando le due scrittrici a Emmanuelle Devos e Sandrine Kiberlain. L’una, nei panni di Violette, sgradevole, petulante, auto commiserante; l’altra è una maschera giapponese per impenetrabilità e per stile, un mostro sacro osannato e rispettato: due solitudini che cercano, in modi diversi, di combattere le costrizioni dell’essere donne.

VOTO: 4/6
(Roberto Nepoti, La Repubblica

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Violette narra la storia della grande ma non popolarissima Violette Leduc, l”autrice di Thèrese et Isabelle ( pubblicato nel 1966, ma scritto negli anni Cinquanta), forse il primo testo lesbico europeo che tratta dell’amore tra donne in maniera non stigmatizzante né vittimistica (come invece accade ne Il pozzo della solitudine di Radclyffe Hall del 1928) ma che invece ne svela, con acutezza disarmante, la spontaneità, la vertigine, l’afrore.
Il regista Martin Provost riesce a coinvolgerci profondamente nell’esperienza letteraria, personale ed erotica di Violette Leduc. E lo fa in termini per nulla morbosi, che veicolano magistralmente il senso di alterità, di spaesamento e genialità che aleggiano sul personaggio.
E’ uno sguardo straniante, asessuato, quello di Provost; segue con fedeltà e senza alcuna forma di giudizio l’evoluzione di Violette (Emmanuelle Devos ), la bastarda, la reietta per eccellenza, l’affarista del mercato nero durante l’occupazione tedesca, alla ricerca disperata di conferme, amore e considerazione, che non sempre le vengono riconosciuti.
In primo luogo si affronta il rapporto “queer” tra la scrittrice e il suo amico-convivente gay Maurice Sachs, di cui Violette sembra essere platonicamente innamorata. Risulta chiaro da subito che Violette è al di là di certi schemi, non cerca affatto la rassicurazione di una mascolinità dominante e definita, anzi la rifugge con determinazione ( quando un suo “collega”le cinge la vita per rassicurarla dopo una retata della polizia,l ei si ritira con decisione, quasi inorridita).
Ma il vero momento di auto-consapevolezza, di epifania, arriva quando Violette si imbatte per caso ne L’invitée (1943) di Simone de Beauvoir, che narra di un mènage à trois che coinvolge due donne. Allora Violette ha un’illuminazione, legge nel testo una legittimazione ad essere ciò che è, a non nascondere la sua natura. Cerca ossessivamente di entrare in contatto con l’autrice, la segue fino alla sua dimora, le manda mimose, quasi come una stalker. Quando finalmente riesce a parlarle la ringrazia, le dice dell’enorme impatto che L’invitée ha avuto nella sua vita e le consegna un suo manoscritto. Si tratta del manoscritto de L’asphixie (1946), il primo romanzo dei Leduc, di cui de Beauvoir (Sandrine Kiberlain) riconosce immediatamente il grande valore.
Lo sguardo del registra si posa allora, con grande intensità e poesia, sul rapporto tra le due donne: Violette la passionale, l’incontinente emotiva e Simone, l’algida, che tuttavia resta scalfita e turbata-anche eroticamente-dalla devozione che la prima nutre verso di lei. La relazione amicale e professionale procede per alti e bassi, ma le due donne non smettono di cercarsi, di ritrovarsi, di completarsi. Sono indissolubilmente legate dal sacro vincolo della scrittura,veicolo di libertà e di auto-determinazione; i riconoscimenti che le due donne ricevono si esprimono all’unisono, e ciò ha il sapore di una fusione totale, che va oltre il sessuale.
Violette ama Simone, glielo dichiara, non se ne vergogna. E continua ad amarla nonostante il suo rifiuto, non cerca palliativi, né cede al ricatto dell’eterosessualità obbligatoria. Non accetta compromessi col patriarcato e, quando si ritrova ad impersonare una madre per un cortometraggio, abbandona il set in preda a isteria e disgusto. Il suo sentire mette drasticamente in discussione l’equazione donna-eterosessuale-madre tanto che, in preda allo sconforto, aggredisce la propria madre, che scioccata le chiede “Ma che ti ho fatto?”.Violette, tra le lacrime, risponde “Mi hai fatta”, come a voler sottolineare qualcosa di morboso e innaturale insito nell’atto della procreazione. Quale miglior messaggio rivoluzionario e lesbofemminista?
Violette pubblica Ravages (1955), testo scandaloso per l’epoca, in cui descrive anche la sua esperienza di aborto dopo una relazione con un uomo, il romanzo viene definito da Simone “l’unico romanzo scritto da una donna che parla liberamente di sessualità e desiderio”.
Provost non giudica e non censura. Rappresenta con profondità psicologica e rigore artistico anche la scelta di isolamento di Violette, che si autoesilia nelle campagne provenzali e si consacra esclusivamente alla scrittura, al sogno, all’autoerotismo. Un’ autarchia lesbica senza pari, autentica celebrazione dell’autonomia del soggetto lesbico rispetto alle rappresentazioni mimetiche dell’eterosessualità.
Violette rappresenta un momento di grande cinema, dove l’arte non coincide col ronzare frenetico della telecamera intorno ai corpi dei personaggi, ma piuttosto con la messa a fuoco dei loro desideri attraverso flussi di coscienza – anche onirici – che rendono perfettamente il turbinio delle emozioni, anche in un solo incrocio di sguardi.
Il regista non si mimetizza narcisisticamente con i personaggi, non fa di loro i suoi portavoce o alter ego ma si colloca a debita distanza per poter veicolare con lucidità ed autenticità il loro sentire altro, per offrire una visione di insieme che renda giustizia all’infinito potenziale sovversivo e terribilmente umano della loro complessità. (Paola Guazzo, Guazzingtonpost.it)

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ARTICOLO di Chiara Ugolini su La Repubblica:

Violette Leduc era figlia di una cameriera e di un uomo che non l’ha mai riconosciuta, un’illegittima, una “bastarda” dal titolo del suo libro più famoso. Diventata amica di Maurice Sachs e poi di Simone De Beauvoir scoprì di avere un grande talento che riversò in una scrittura diretta, dolorosa, in cui il desiderio femminile veniva raccontato senza pudori borghesi. Il suoi romanzi più noti, l’autobiografico “La bastarda” e “Teresa e Isabella” sull’amore lesbico fra due adolescenti anche questo ispirato alla sua giovinezza, sono stati pubblicati in Italia ma attualmente fuori catalogo. L’uscita quest’estate del biopic Violette di Martin Provost, distribuito da Movies Inspired, potrebbe essere l’occasione per il pubblico italiano di riscoprire quest’autrice che negli anni Sessanta rivoluzionò il modo di raccontare la sessualità.
Presentato al festival del cinema francese a Roma ‘Rendez – vous’ il biopic di Martin Provost che uscirà in estate nelle nostre sale. Racconta l’amicizia di Violette Leduc con Simone De Beauvoir e come questa la incoraggiò a raccontare la sua difficile vita attraverso la scrittura
“In realtà anche i francesi l’hanno un po’ dimenticata. Oggi è conosciuta tra gli intellettuali ma non al grande pubblico. – spiega Martin Provost a Roma per presentare il film in anteprima al festival Rendez- vous – Violette è stata la prima donna a scrivere attraverso l’autofiction. L’incontro nel dopo guerra con Simone De Beauvoir che l’ha incoraggiata e aiutata l’ha resa una grande scrittrice. Il film racconta la difficile traversata attraverso la solitudine, la sofferenza, le difficoltà materiali fino al grande successo del suo romanzo “La bastarda”.

Violette è stata la prima scrittrice a descrivere in modo così diretto il desiderio femminile. Come si poteva rendere questo al cinema?

“Prima di Violette ho girato Seraphine, questi due film vanno visti come un dittico. Girando un film su una pittrice il suo talento era evidente, le tele mostrate nel film parlavano per la stessa autrice. Rendere invece la capacità di Violette di usare le parole attraverso il mezzo cinematografico è stato molto più difficile. Come si poteva con le immagini rendere la bellezza della scrittura? È stato un lavoro lungo e difficile perché occorreva entrare nella memoria di Violette, ricreare momenti di profonda solitudine che hanno caratterizzato profondamente la sua opera. Il suo desiderio e il suo amore sono stati sublimati dalle parole”.

Un film su Violette: la “bastarda” di talento, amica di Simone De Beauvoir

Come mai è così interessato al tema del talento nascosto nelle persone comuni?
“Penso che creature come Seraphine e Violette in qualche modo mi parlino perché mi somigliano. Trovo interessante vedere come il talento si sviluppa in ambienti che non sono dedicati alla creazione, penso ad un artista come Van Gogh. Che diceva: “Mi batto tutti i giorni contro un muro”. È una sensazione che ho vissuto anche io. La mia famiglia viene da ambienti molto diversi: mio padre era ufficiale di marina ma di famiglia modesta, mentre mia madre invece veniva da una famiglia borghese di industriali tessili che durante la guerra sono andati completamente in rovina. Questa sensazione di non appartenere a nessun ambiente sociale specifico mi ha fatto sentire molto vicino a personaggi come Seraphine, Violette e in qualche modo anche a Simone De Beauvoir”.

Come avete lavorato con Emmanuelle Devos sulla costruzione del personaggio?
“È stato un bellissimo incontro, un po’ come era stato con Yoland Moreau. Per entrambi i film ho scritto la sceneggiatura pensando a loro come interpreti e l’ho volute incontrare prima di cominciare il lavoro di scritture perché volevo che loro fossero d’accordo sull’impostazione del lavoro. Io amo gli attori e cerco di mettere il mio lavoro al loro servizio. Abbiamo lavorato due anni insieme, ha letto tutti gli adattamenti e le versioni della sceneggiatura e in questo periodo siamo diventati amici. Più che amici, si è stabilita una specie di osmosi. Capitava che io arrivassi sul set con qualche dolore e lei pure sentiva lo stesso dolore. È molto raro che succeda, ma credo che io mi sia identificato molto in Violette e pure lei naturalmente. Per tutta la lavorazione ci siamo sentiti come fratello e sorella, come una coppia che balla”.

INTERVISTA AL REGISTA (di Laureline Amanieux):

What was your first encounter with Violette Leduc?
René de Ceccatty, whom I met in 2007, introduced me to her while I was writing Séraphine. René said, “You’re making a movie about Séraphine, but have you heard of Violette Leduc?” I only knew her by name; I’d never read any of her work. He gave me an unpublished text that Violette had written about Séraphine, and which Les Temps Modernes had rejected. It was astonishingly perspicacious and beautiful. René also gave me the biography he’d written about Violette. After reading it, I devoured La Bâtarde, Trésors à prendre and so on. I told René, “We have to make a film about Violette.” The idea of the diptych was born. To my mind, Séraphine and Violette are sisters. Their stories are so similar, it’s unnerving.

In your film, you lay Violette bare in an intimately truthful portrait that liberates her of all the scandalous clichés associated with her reputation as a writer.
The more I discovered about her, the more I was deeply moved by what was hidden deep within her, the fragility and hurt, whereas the scandalous, flamboyant public figure – after she achieved celebrity in the 1960s – interested me much less; it was merely a façade. I wanted to get close to the real Violette, who is in pursuit of love and withdraws into great solitude to write. Life wasn’t kind to her. People said she was difficult. That wasn’t enough for me. I saw her as very insecure, fighting a lonely battle with herself, but still seeking. For me, that insecurity and solitude are what drove her. People rarely consider the risk every artist takes, whether they be a painter, writer or director. More often, they only see the achievement, and success if it comes. It takes a good deal of recklessness, as well as courage and perseverance, to set out on that road, and to keep going. Over time, you realize that solitude is extremely fertile, a crucial ally, just like silence, reflecting the inner being, which constantly grows and develops, but it can take a lifetime to comprehend that.

How did you get the idea to divide the film into chapters, as if reading a book?
Gradually. I realized that the succession of people Violette met in the course of her life corresponded either to particular books she wrote or to fundamental phases in her development. In editing, it really stood out, until there were only the people who really mattered, along with the penultimate chapter, dedicated to Faucon, the village in Provence where she lived in later life and died.

Personalities, the place where she bought her house, the book that brought her success… The film follows the trajectory of an authentic heroine toward her emancipation.
Yes, I wanted to make Violette a heroine, and I wanted all the protagonists of her story, of whom she would also have to free herself, to appear in the film. In order to grow, it is vital to be able to free yourself of everything that helped make you what you are. Reliant first of all on her mother, then on Simone de Beauvoir, Violette eventually secured her independence by writing La Bâtarde. By freeing herself of them subconsciously, she found her place. That’s why the chapter on Berthe, Violette’s mother, comes so late in the movie: when the conflict reaches its peak and can find a resolution.

You point out Berthe’s inadequacies, but also her desire to take care of her daughter.
Berthe is as central to the movie as she was to the life of Violette, who loved her as deeply as she resented her for bringing her into the world. Berthe wasn’t a bad woman. She was certainly not a good mother (Violette’s birth was not registered until she was two years old), although I am very dubious about the concept of good and bad mothers. It doesn’t really mean anything. Berthe did the best she could, and I didn’t want to condemn her, as Violette does. On the contrary, I wanted to show that Violette only sees part of her mother – the part with which she has scores to settle. The same goes for Maurice Sachs, an obscure personage who deserts Violette even though it was he who urged her to write. He plays his part in the inner construction of the writer she is to become. Nothing is ever black or white; there are shades of grey and nuances. I always come back to that – giving each character his or her chance, a fair crack. That’s how you find your place.

After the war, Violette Leduc meets a symbolic mother, Simone de Beauvoir, who takes on a role of mentor and patron.
That was the strongest bond in Violette’s whole life, above all the tumultuous and complex love affairs she had. The film’s second chapter recounts their meeting in Paris. At a friend of Maurice’s, to whom she is delivering black market meat, Violette picks up Simone de Beauvoir’s novel, She Came To Stay. She is immediately struck by the size of the book. “A woman writing such a big book,” she says. She reads it. She is gripped. She becomes obsessed with meeting and giving to Simone de Beauvoir her first manuscript, In the Prison of her Skin. Violette finds and observes Simone at the Café de Flore, where she writes every morning. She follows her. She corners her eventually and gives Simone her book. It’s the start of a lifelong relationship.

How do you interpret her relationship with Simone de Beauvoir in the film? Beauvoir seems to admire Violette’s impassioned behavior, and be irritated by it in equal measure. Simone is the only friend she keeps her whole life long; she corrects Violette’s texts, guides her and advises her. Violette even bequeaths her literary rights to Simone.
Simone de Beauvoir was fascinated by Violette, who rejected being an intellectual. She said, “I write with my senses.” For Simone, it was an ambiguous relationship that blurred the lines. Violette was in love with Simone, who did not reciprocate but saw in Violette the inspired writer that she never was. She kept her at a distance without ever letting her go. Violette was a terror. You slammed the door in her face and she slipped back in the window. Emmanuelle Devos, who plays her in the movie, came up with a very amusing and fitting term to describe her: “a pain in the heart.” Violette was a calamity for herself as much as for others: she suffered terribly and she provoked a lot of grief, too. She was convinced she was ugly and, confronted with Simone de Beauvoir, her ugliness became an obsession. Simone, however, managed to dodge every trap Violette set for her, in order to give her support and help her forge her oeuvre. Without Simone, I think Violette would have self-destructed.

Your Simone de Beauvoir is unexpectedly fragile and solitary, too.
It’s the less well-known side of Simone, alone, at a time when Sartre was dallying elsewhere. She wasn’t fulfilled until much later, after she met Nelson Algren. This fragile Simone also came to me thanks to one of her books that I rate above the others, A Very Easy Death, which is remorseless, tender and lucid all at the same time. It exudes all her emotion, of which she was so eminently capable, and humanity. I wanted to bring to life this intimate, little-known Simone, the woman who suddenly confides in Violette and breaks down in tears in front of the person who has sobbed on her shoulder all her life.

How did you cast the actresses who play these two roles?
I met with Emmanuelle Devos before I wrote the script, as I did with Yolande Moreau before Séraphine. I knew it was her and nobody else. I wanted to be sure she’d accept the physical transformation, becoming blonde with an ugly false nose. For Simone de Beauvoir, it was more complicated. Playing somebody who is so well known is scary. Emmanuelle encouraged me to meet Sandrine Kiberlain. I couldn’t picture her in the role but, when we met, I was struck by her grace, intelligence and, above all, determination. She was sure she could do it.

What other relationships fundamental to Violette’s life and work did you choose to show?
There’s Jean Genet, played by Jacques Bonnaffé. Genet loves Violette, who is illegitimate like him. They feel like brother and sister – shunned, two extraordinary writers, poets of their time and wrongdoers. Genet dedicated The Maids to Violette. Then, there was Jacques Guérin (Olivier Gourmet), a collector of manuscripts and owner of the perfume company, Les Parfums d’Orsay. He was rich but illegitimate also, homosexual, and Violette fell in love with him, of course, and doggedly pursued him to no avail. To my mind, Jacques is the ghost of the father who refused to recognize her as his daughter. Jacques was an aesthete, who had saved Proust’s manuscripts and went on to buy Violette’s and Genet’s.

Violette’s writing is striking for its physicality and sexualized language, which was revolutionary for a female author in the 1950s. People said she wrote like a man.
Yes. Writing was organic for Violette. That is very rare. She caught a lot of flak because she had the courage to say things nobody dared to mention. In her own words. She was the first woman to recount her abortion, and Ravages was censored. The unabridged version has never been republished, which is aberrant. The censorship resulted in Violette being interned. She nearly lost her mind.

Passion and love are like a cry that drives her writing but, at the same time, she said, “I am a desert speaking in monologues.”
Passion, yes. Frustration, definitely. There were different ways of tackling Violette Leduc. You could choose the scandalous woman angle, because she truly provoked scandals, was very outspoken, had a wonderful sense of humor and strong personality, and loved provocation and unseemly romances, but when you read her whole oeuvre, you realize that was all a pretext. She was looking for something else. She transformed her doomed or impossible romantic adventures into novels. And she was always alone.

How did you choose the music?
Violette needed a score as powerful and possessed as Michael Galasso’s compositions for Séraphine, but Michael had passed away between the two films. I was lost. So I looked and I found. Arvo Pärt was the obvious choice. I had Fratres playing in my mind, and as soon as we tried it with the film, it fell into place.

Is your film, like Violette’s novels, the “appropriation of a destiny,” to borrow Simone de Beauvoir’s expression?
How can you change a bad hand? How can you make something of misfortune? The film opens in 1942 in the first flickering of dawn amid the darkness of a harsh, brutal winter. It concludes in the south of France as the sun sets, with Violette at the height of her fame after the publication of La Bâtarde in 1964, prefaced by Simone de Beauvoir. It’s a road toward the light.

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CRITICA:

Nearly every character in Violette, Martin Provost’s scholastically dense biographical study of landmark French writer Violette LeDuc, makes a point somewhere in the film to criticize its protagonist at length, bemoaning her appearance, her immaturity, her writing skill, her insistence on being. Among the literary circuit of 1940s Paris into which she’s bullishly inserted herself, LeDuc is a literal piece of work, a project and process constantly in need of redrafting. She’s not merely a creator of texts, but a text herself: Her sexual voracity, self-abasing neurosis, and stubborn commitment to impossible ideals provide the raw material for literary heavyweights like Jean Genet (Jacques Bonnaffé) and, in particular, Simone de Beauvoir (Sandrine Kiberlain) to shape their own New Woman, a bodily reflection of their own existentialist agendas.
But the reflection is hardly flattering. By focusing on the tumultuous friendship between LeDuc and de Beauvoir, Provost creates not so much a dichotomy of femininity as a funhouse mirror of it: de Beauvoir writes, famously and wonderfully, of the outrage and nefarious desires bubbling within her, but LeDuc gives those urges garish but insistent outward expression; what the former muses on the page, the latter bellows in the streets. Violette takes a major risk in using such bold stokes to characterize its titular subject, with Emmanuelle Devos working hard to uglify herself both inside and out, but the result is hypnotic, as Provost’s vision of LeDuc is both a repellant and cannily sympathetic one, a figure forever on the verge of collapsing under the weight of her insatiable desire. Kiberlain’s birdlike de Beauvoir, functioning as a surrogate for the audience in many ways, must submerge her own frustrations with tenderness around LeDuc, creating an unnerving pas de deux in which both figures infuriate and inspire each other in equal measure.
Violette is ultimately not the story of LeDuc and de Beauvoir, however, but of LeDuc and her own psychosexual torment, which de Beauvoir exacerbates by rejecting LeDuc’s romantic advances and also helps treat by encouraging her to write about her complicated sexual history. The film is an encyclopedia of abuse and rejection, opening with LeDuc’s disastrous marriage to gay writer Maurice Sachs (Olivier Py) and observing several foiled attempts at intimacy with old friends and new acquaintances. A true self-saboteur, LeDuc seeks out these rejections with a martyr’s fervor, but she only finds release by writing, which allows her to turn her passions inward. Provost chapters his film into six parts, each named after a prominent figure in LeDuc’s life, and though their arbitrary placement renders them somewhat pointless as a narrative device, they reflect LeDuc’s own way of organizing and understanding life, first in lieu of writing and eventually via writing: Her pain comes from perceiving herself through the lens of others, and her salvation comes from observing others through the lens of self. VOTO: 3/4 (David Lee dallas, slantmagazine)

Violette” has the particularity of being the second biopic about a French female artist directed by Martin Provost. In 2008, naïve-style painter Séraphine de Senlis was depicted in “Séraphine”. Now it’s time for us to know about the flickering literary path, frontal personality, and complex relationships of feminist novelist Violette Leduc (1907-1972), known for writing about sex and abortion as never before, according to the words of her admirer colleague, supporter, and object of desire, Simone de Beauvoir. The latter became Violette’s obsession, in a suffering, loving passion that was never requited, despite the great veneration that these bold and visionary women authors felt for each other. Other famous personalities made part of Violette’s unstable life: cases of writers Maurice Sachs (in a theatrical first section that wasn’t so strong as the following) and Jean Genet, and the rich industrial Jacques Guérin, but was her mother, Berthe, the cause of every emotional instability. In her search for love, acceptance and human contact, Violette ends up more and more isolated – ‘alone in my desert monologue’ as she referred. Despite of the bad start, the film presented appealing images reflecting rigorously the period of time covered (cinematography by Yves Cape), and some of Leduc’s refined poetry excerpts, which was often combined with a disconsolate classical music. Emmanuelle Devos did a great job as Violette, pulling out all those uncontrolled emotional impulses, while Sandrine Kiberlain was also noticeable as Beauvoir, even showing a more unexpressive personality. VOTO: 3,5/4 (alwayswatchgoodmovies)