Petite Maman (2021): Playing in a Sea of Grief
Courtesy of Lilies Films, Canal+, Cine+, and France 3 Cinéma
By Nick Sansone
In discussions of the great auteur filmmakers of world cinema today, many well-known names are often included (Quentin Tarantino, Paul Thomas Anderson, Bong Joon-Ho, etc.), but one filmmaker whose name has come up more frequently in the last couple of years is Céline Sciamma. A trailblazing feminist filmmaker from France who garnered critical acclaim and festival attention for her coming-of-age dramas Water Lilies (2007), Tomboy (2011), and Girlhood (2014), Sciamma first came to this writer’s attention with her acclaimed historical love story Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019), which became something of a phenomenon in the arthouse film circuit in late 2019 and early 2020. Even with no prior knowledge of Sciamma’s other work, it was still immediately clear that she was a singular artistic voice, as Portrait’s hypnotic draw and raw emotion made it a powerful and difficult-to-forget cinematic experience.
In fact, many wondered how she could follow that film. Not only was it her breakthrough into the broader world of cinema, she had also established an audience with certain expectations for her work. So, in true subversive fashion, Sciamma went in the complete opposite direction of Portrait, making a small, 72-minute children’s fantasy drama with only five characters and two significant locations. However, despite the small scale and sentimental premise of Petite Maman (2021), which literally translates to “Little Mother,” what Sciamma has done here is craft the feature film equivalent of a great short story, presenting just a few characters, a simple storyline, and a prevailing emotional impact which lingers long after the film is over. And much like the great recent coming-of-age films Eighth Grade (2018) and House of Hummingbird (2020), this film presents a powerfully melancholic portrayal of a slice of young girlhood that is specific, yet universal. Regardless of your age and how you grew up, you will certainly connect to Petite Maman (2021) in one way or another.
When the film opens, we are introduced to eight-year-old Nelly (Joséphine Sanz), who is saying goodbye to various elderly ladies in what appears to be a nursing home. We soon learn that she has spent a considerable amount of time there visiting her grandmother who just passed away. Upon leaving the facility, Nelly is taken by her parents (Nina Meurisse and Stéphane Varupenne) to her grandmother’s home where her mother’s childhood room and belongings have all been preserved. The initial plan is for Nelly to help her mother, who she appears to be distant from, go through all of these belongings and clean out the house. However, her mother soon leaves this task to her husband and Nelly, finding she needs to be alone to fully process her grief. What’s immediately noticeable at this point is that Nelly is a very introverted and independent child, and there is a clear emotional disconnect between her and her parents. So while she clearly knew and loved her grandmother, even to the point of wishing she could have given her grandmother a better goodbye, she doesn’t feel much grief or emotion about her death (i.e., she dryly asks her mother if she can take her grandmother’s cane in the immediate aftermath of her grandmother’s passing.).
One day, while taking a break from her tasks and going for a walk in the woods adjacent to her grandmother’s house, Nelly stumbles upon another girl her age building a treehouse. Two things are immediately apparent about this girl: she looks uncannily like Nelly (the actress who plays this girl, Gabrielle Sanz, is Joséphine Sanz’s identical twin sister), and her name is Marion, the same name as Nelly’s mother. They form a bond very quickly and spend time going on little adventures through the almost-idyllic natural landscape. They even end up hanging out at Marion’s house, which looks uncannily like Nelly’s grandmother’s cottage, and where Marion’s mother happens to walk with a cane just like Nelly’s grandmother. As Nelly starts suspecting Marion’s true identity (her own mother at eight years old), she begins to come to grips with the adult Marion’s humanity and her unique emotional struggles. This, in turn, positions Nelly to form the emotional connection with her mother that she needs in order to truly be happy.
This is about it as far as the plot goes. And while the description above might make this seem like slight and sentimental children’s fare, the reality is that, similar to other great films about children like Spike Jonze’s Where the Wild Things Are (2009) and Pixar’s Inside Out (2015), Petite Maman (2021) is a beautiful parable meant for adult moviegoers. Sciamma dares the film’s viewers to recall their own childhoods and identify pivotal moments of confrontation with adult matters, such as death, grief, and the reality that parents have human flaws and vulnerabilities. A hugely transformative moment in my life happened when I was thirteen and my father had a heart attack. He survived and fully recovered from it, but the fact alone that my father came so close to death made me realize just how human my parents are and to not take them for granted. And for Nelly in this film, being able to see her mother as a child her age helped her gain similar clarity—a shift in perspective so quiet and powerful that it sneaks up on you in ways you might not fully understand until long after the film ends. It is truly masterful storytelling.
Knowing full well that the heart of this film is the bond that forms between Nelly and Marion, Sciamma makes the brilliant decision to give a majority of the film’s brief running time to scenes of their friendship. And while long stretches of dialogue without much action or palpable drama occurring can grow dull when handled poorly, these two actresses have an exquisite chemistry (certainly helped by the fact that they’re identical twin sisters) that renders these sequences some of the most infectiously entertaining I’ve seen in a film all year. Two scenes specifically—one involving making pancakes and another involving murder mystery role-playing—are equal parts sweet and hilarious, ripe with Sciamma’s trademark sophisticated dialogue combined with the genuine innocence of some of my favorite children’s stories.
A smaller element of this film that is also key to its impact is Nelly’s relationship with her father. Because almost all of Sciamma’s films are inherently female-focused (there are almost no men at all in Portrait of a Lady on Fire [2019]), it was very refreshing to see a positive (albeit flawed) male figure in this film. One particular scene between the two of them takes place in the cottage’s kitchen (that features a hilariously deadpan line reading from Nelly) and is perhaps the moment when the film’s themes of grief and disenchantment surface. The way in which her father, who is working through his own grief while trying to be strong for Nelly, becomes so open and vulnerable is really quite stunning, and it compounds the impact of this movie’s already deeply poignant story.
And making this film all the more effective are two of the most stellar child performances this critic has seen in some time. It is one thing for a single child actor to give an outstanding lead performance in a film (most recently Ji-hoo Park in House of Hummingbird [2020]), but for both Joséphine and Gabrielle Sanz to give equally great performances here is nothing short of a miracle. Joséphine embodies Nelly’s quiet, withdrawn but curious, personality beautifully, while also yielding moments of both genuine hilarity and deep sadness. And although Gabrielle’s role is even more understated, she also exquisitely embodies her role as Marion, having an almost ethereal quality that allows a slight counterbalance to Joséphine’s role. They are both true discoveries and I very much look forward to seeing what they do next. Additionally, the performances by Nina Meurisse as Nelly’s mother and, especially, Stéphane Varupenne as Nelly’s father work subtly, yet beautifully, to bring their adult perspectives to the periphery of this story and allow for moving moments of vulnerability—Varupenne in the kitchen scene mentioned above and Meurisse in the film’s tear-jerking final moments.
But rivaling the performances in terms of importance to the film is the production design and use of mise-en-scène. Arguably the most important characters besides Nelly and Marion are the cottages and the natural landscape surrounding them, and they both leave just as much of a lasting impression. As the film slowly transforms from a straightforward coming-of-age drama to magical realist fantasy and parable, the scenery perfectly lends itself to this fantastical story. The cottages possess a timeless fairytale aura and the landscape is covered in beautiful fall foliage that feels straight out of a nature painting. And all of this is brought beautifully to life by cinematographer and frequent Sciamma collaborator Claire Mathon, whose work on this film rivals her acclaimed work on Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019) in many subtle ways.
Viewing Petite Maman (2021) in the International Competition of this year’s Chicago International Film Festival, I thought back to my childhood self and what I would have thought about this film if I had seen it at Nelly and Marion’s age. While I would certainly love to believe that I would have adored the film (and I did love films that didn’t talk down to me as a kid) I also recognize that it is unlikely that I would have come close to understanding its true meaning. Just like Nelly, it took me a while to really come to terms with my parents’ humanity, and to understand the complex emotions of adults in general. Now that I’m well into my young-adult years, I can look back at that time in my childhood with the sophistication necessary to understand that process. And for those who seek this film out in theaters, as you very well should amidst all of the other blockbusters and movies vying for awards consideration, hopefully you will also find yourself pondering that childhood process. Perhaps, you will even explore how you can channel it, especially as continued societal discord has, in many ways, prevented us yet again from understanding one another on an emotional level. If we can come to understand the complex emotions of those different from us as children, maybe we can do that yet again.
Nick Sansone is a writer and aspiring filmmaker from Chicago. A recent graduate of DePaul University’s School of Cinematic Arts, he continues to study film independently and has appeared on different radio programs in the Chicagoland area to discuss contemporary cinema and the Academy Awards.