A good morning review

a good day once again confirms Mia Hansen-Løve’s position as an alchemist of cinema. She takes the things of everyday life—work, family, relationships, illness, parenthood—and harnesses them for magic without ever feeling mundane or inauthentic. Built around the best performance of her career by Léa Seydoux, it is a portrait of a woman experiencing extremes: the joy and exhilaration of a new love, the pain and helplessness of a rapidly deteriorating father, simultaneously . Basically, it sounds histrionic; it’s actually a gift of a well-drawn, grace-filled film that comes as an absolutely satisfying package.

There is a quiet naturalness to Hansen-Løve’s storytelling as she weaves together the different aspects of Sandra’s life. First Doors, the film doubles her profession as a translator (an invisible mediator who reveals to others) and her role as devoted daughter of Georg (a perfectly discreet Gregory), father of her philosophy professor whose memory and eyesight are slowly fading . to a rare form of dementia. Hansen-Løve dramatizes the harrowing conundrums of dealing with aging parents, both practical (finding decent care at an affordable price) and emotional: when Sandra, emptying her bookshelf, remarks: “I feel closer to my father with his books than with his books.” with him,” is a tacit amalgamation of his recollection of who he used to be injected with her sadness into who he has become.

Considering all the sadness and responsibility Sandra carries (she also has to watch abusive children’s films with her daughter, who then hilariously pretends to limp), it’s an emotional moment when she finds a slice of happiness with married cosmochemist Clément. , charmingly played by Poupaud. It is a quintessential French film: nice conversations, walks in nice parks, grandiloquence, nice haircuts, but both the director and the actors find humanity in the familiar setting. Seydoux is radiant as a woman shyly rediscovering her body (“I forgot how,” says Sandra in full seduction) and herself, while Poupard plays against the stereotype of the French Lothaire, so happy to spend time with Sandra in a museum like in the bag.

Hansen-Løve’s cinema is understated but still elegant, with clever use of ellipses and repetition. It’s a personal but not naïve film, full of humor and warmth (there is a family Christmas scene that doesn’t advance the plot but remains to be seen). He does this Hansen-Løve trick of being serious and lighthearted at the same time, a throwback to the complex realities of his best work (see goodbye first love, father of my children, Eden, things to come). And when it comes to the conclusion, few directors leave you with the feeling that life goes on long after the credits roll.