More than ever

The tragic real-life death of 37-year-old actor Gaspard Ulliel last year in a skiing accident casts a long shadow over Emily Atef’s sixth feature, if only because it ominously underscores the fragility of existence and the need to profit from it. of every day. . In this film, it is Ulliel’s character, Mathieu, who does not understand his wife Hélène’s (Vicky Krieps) desire to leave life on her terms without him; his lonely vigil in Bordeaux would in itself be a fascinating film.

The focus, however, falls on Hélène, as she tries to come to terms with her fate and make peace with the body that has betrayed her. Atef makes good use of the couple’s cramped apartment to convey Hélène’s limited options, as she criticizes her friends at dinner for tiptoeing about her illness, her mother for crying during a video call, and her husband for crying for her before letting him die. Yet for all the sweeping vistas afforded by the space she dreams of, her Norwegian retreat proves far from idyllic, for his cabin is uncomfortable, the silence eerie, and the endless daylight intrusively sleepless.

Even the clean air takes its toll, as Helene makes her way through the woods to the only place with a phone signal. However, little by little, you tune into the relaxing rhythms. Atef allows Yves Cape’s camera to embrace dramatic landscapes, but also to keep it close to Krieps, to show the effort required to endure the relentless invasion of death. Nicolas Cantin’s sound design also highlights his efforts as he struggles to breathe while walking, asserting himself or making love.

Occasionally, Krieps and Ulliel enter the dialogue with a bit of emphasis, each trying to gain the upper hand in an unwinnable argument. But their intimacy is candid and sensual, as they resign themselves to the cruel fate of sharing one last goodbye.