Director and co-writer Catherine Breillat’s French twist on the Danish film Queen of Hearts has got your cycle of abuse right here. We open on the face of a trembling teen as she recounts her sexual history to Anne (a handsome and supremely put-together Léa Drucker), the lawyer who will be attempting to nail her rapist. “The defense will try to portray you as a world class slut,” she warns. “In court, victims often become the accused.” Dun-dun-dun! A little later, we learn that the worst thing that ever happened to Anne was finding out she couldn’t have children, thanks to an early-in-life abortion after…well, you figure it out. So when Théo (a dreamy and lanky Samuel Kircher), her older husband’s don’t-give-a-fuck-son from his first marriage, comes to stay and starts picking up on her hatred for normopaths (her term), well, you figure it out. The only mystery lies in how the inevitable will or will not resolve — and even that isn’t the point here. (If it were, we’d see more of Chekhov’s dictaphone.) Breillat’s interests seem more personal than plotty, as evidenced by several long, long closeups: first of an ecstatic Théo, second of an isolated-in-the-midst-of-communion Anne, third of a terrified, discombobulated Dad. The personal dynamic that drives the plot: despite being competent, compassionate, and even something approaching content, Anne has a fear of the call of the void, a fear of being the reason that everything disappears. (Why? Well…) But “disappears” may not be the right word, if only because it isn’t nearly violent enough. Then again, that’s the character of the film as a whole: cataclysmic events taking place amid lovely, languid scenery and civil (or at least sophisticated) conversation. (2024) — Matthew Lickona
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