As the follow-up to her highly decorated 2019 hit Portrait of a Lady on Fire, Céline Sciamma’s unique rumination on working through loss highlights the importance of child perspectives and dismantles the social concept of family.
★★★★✰
Painted in golden tones of yellow, beige and cream, each shot of Petite Maman outstretches its arms to embrace the inner child in a warm hug. In the silence between Céline Sciamma’s filmic conversations, a hug is something we’ve grown to need. Swirling in a seemingly never-ending pool of collective grief, Petite Maman greets us at a time where needing to navigate sadness with an air of reminiscence and appreciation is all but essential. Mixing the unique essence of childhood with a playfulness of omniscient time, the film is expertly styled to question what grief might look like when hidden in plain sight.
After the passing of her grandmother, 8-year-old Nelly (played by Joséphine Sanz) accompanies her parents to sort through the house she left behind. While her mum struggles to face the ghosts of her past, Nelly finds play and imagination in her grief, befriending Marion (played by Joséphine’s sister, Gabrielle) who lives nearby. As the two connect and begin to learn more about each other, the ties between past, present and future are closer than Nelly first thought.
In true Céline Sciamma fashion, each frame is a postcard anyone else could only dream of painting, delicious in both their artistic aesthetics and emotional impact. A gorgeously slow pace, no subtle beats are missed while seen through childlike eyes of quiet joy. As an audience, we amble around with Nelly as she pieces together the inner workings of the family entanglements that came before her. There’s wholesome jokes that hit just the right spot, visual styling that exudes pleasure, and the smallest of shifts between joy and grief that can change in mere nanoseconds. As she drinks her warmed chocolate milk from a bowl, Nelly’s actions speak to the contented, wholesome energy we feel inside.
2021 continues to be the year of spectacular child performances, and the Sanz sisters are no exception. The decision to frame a new light of grief through the eyes of a child is what sets Petite Maman apart from a canon of films steeped in loss, and both Joséphine and Gabrielle follow through by hitting the notes that needed hitting. What’s most notable about the film however, is the playful balance between the innocence and grandeur of childhood. Nelly calls things as she sees them, daring to broach the subjects the adults daren’t even question. This direct, curious relationship to grief is a total breath of fresh air, allowing us to run along with the familial fairytale Sciamma is concocting. There’s a continued sense of care as we lose ourselves in the choreographed dance that weaves together decades of time.
In its one arguable moment of downfall, Petite Maman is both a grower and a show-er. While 90% of the screenplay has us in the emotional palm of its hand, it often feels like the final 10% gut-punch is missing. Sciamma didn’t design this film to exist on dramatic turning points—and in no way it needs them—but the decision to charter grief in such an unseen way has the unintentional side effect of staying one note. Not necessarily a negative, the film almost needs to be one note to properly convey the childlike sense of ‘okayness’ grief has attached itself to. While this is Petite Maman’s sturdy centrefold, family dynamics are uniquely picked apart—the reframing of mothers as friends à la Gilmore Girls is a particular treat.
The Verdict
There are no surprises when watching Petite Maman, but there doesn’t need to be. With minimal time indicators and droplets of fitting poignancy, the result of a parental fairytale kids can only dream of is something to be savoured. The full emotional effects might not hit you until a week after watching, but when they do, they’re very unlikely to leave you.
Words by Jasmine Valentine
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