France
3*
Directors:
David Foenkinos
Stéphane Foenkinos
Screenwriter:
David Foenkinos
Director of Photography:
Rémy Chevrin
Running time: 108 minutes
Original title: La délicatesse
That first half-hour of Delicacy (La Délicatesse) is as gorgeous and as heart-rending as the famous kissing scene in Amélie, whose quirky Audrey Tautou also takes the lead here. It is a gamble the directors, brothers David and Stéphane Foenkinos, bet on big, but even while we are watching it we know deep down they could never keep up with the rhythm, the beauty or the emotion captured in those first few moments of the story.
If only the rest of the film were as delicate as its first 30 minutes.
The moments are all big, and few films — with the notable exception of Mike Nichols’ Closer, a film that alternated the meeting and the breakup scenes in many different relationships — have gone down this road before. The moments certainly evoke feelings of near-ecstasy in the viewer, as the acting is smooth, yet we sense a breathtaking rollercoaster in the lives of these characters we still know so little about.
The film opens at a café, where a young man is sitting alone at a table. Close by, he sees a woman entering, who takes a seat and scans the menu in front of her. He tells himself he will go and talk to her if she settles on … apricot juice. She orders coffee, then corrects herself to order apricot juice instead, and smiles in the direction of the young man. Next, we see them right outside the café as they are leaving arm in arm, celebrating the anniversary of this first encounter.
Many similar moments follow, in which time is gently elided, from first meeting and celebrating the anniversary to getting married and discussing having children, before the young man is suddenly run over by a car. All of this happens in the first 30 minutes, but luckily the rest of the film is not a dreary series of shots that highlight her loss. It is, rather, a look at the difficulty of having a new relationship while her memories continue to affect the way she behaves.
The film is based on a book by one of the directors, David Foenkinos, but the two brothers have beautifully adapted the story for the big screen with spectacular transitions early on and a very thoughtful use of the colour red, a tactic borrowed from a film explicitly featured in the background of an early scene, Ingmar Bergman’s Cries and Whispers.
The colour red, manifested either in the clothing worn by main character Nathalie (Tautou), the strong disco lights or the interior of a restaurant she visits with her boss on a disastrous dinner date, clearly refers to love or a bleeding heart, but as time goes by the red mostly disappears, which raises all kinds of questions about the character, who certainly hasn’t forgotten her late husband François.
The directors’ vision becomes a bit muddled as the story progresses. A shy introvert called Markus (François Damiens) who works with Nathalie takes a liking to her, and though he isn’t much to look at, she finds he understands her, and they always have something to talk about. This is, however, an instance where Delicacy would have greatly benefited from those seamless time jumps so frequent at the beginning of the film, as we don’t have any idea what this relationship might look like in a few months or a few years.
One important thing the film gets right is the difficulty of moving on after a relationship, especially one that ended as unexpectedly as the one between Nathalie and François. Scenes where we can see her wondering whether she should delete his number from her phone or toss out his toothbrush are poignant and show an understanding of the underlying pain in her life that can take a very long time to heal.
Nathalie’s interaction with friends is another element that deserves praise, as the friends want the best for her without things changing too much. But that is exactly what happens when she meets Markus. He seems to be perfect for her right now, but her friends don’t agree because he is not as good-looking or as outwardly interesting as François was, and she has to find a compromise.
But the film is rather superficial in its depiction of this dilemma, and we never really get a sense she is struggling to juggle all these new developments in her life.
Delicacy is not another Amélie, but it is certainly charming, and a final scene is particularly honest about the role of memory and pain in relationships, and the place two people must find in each other’s lives in order to make things work.
This is a slightly modified version of the writer’s review that first appeared in The Prague Post.