Mademoiselle Chambon

I am not a romance films lover. I prefer brutal, thrilled and action movies; not for the squeamish. But this one, totally different, is a masterpiece for me. A real monument of fineness, sensibility and emotion. Kiberlain and Lindon were, not so long ago, a couple in real life. That explains everything on the screen. Some sequences are outsanding.

When shy Lindon asks shy Kiberlain to play a disc of HER music, and when they listen to it, side by side, I felt warmth under my skin. An unforgettable moment. Pure emotion. At one hundred per cent.

And the sequence at Lindon's father's anniversary, when Kiberlain plays violin, her eyes closed, plunged into her music, her world, her soul. At this moment, Lindon's wife stares at her husband's face, and Kiberlain's one. And she understands. Everything. But keeps this for her.

I won't spoil the end of this real gem. But, believe me, all long this story, I felt my eyes wet.

MADEMOISELLE CHAMBON is a delicate, quiet interlude in the life of a construction worker in a little village whose gentle life is momentarily disrupted by the awakening of feelings of infatuation and the aftermath. Based on the novel by Eric Holder and adapted for the screen by Florence Vignon and director Stéphane Brizé, this little miracle of a movie is what the French do best - understated appreciation for passing passion in a world of ordinary days.

Jean (Vincent Lindon) is a construction worker happily married to Anne-Marie (Aure Atika) and adoring father of young son Jérémy (Arthur Le Houérou) and loving son of his retired builder father (Jean-Marc Thibault): he spends his hours away from his work tutoring his son with his wife and bathing his father's feet. Jérémy's new schoolteacher is the very reserved but kind Véronique Chambon (Sandrine Kiberlain, in life the wife of Vincent Lindon!) who requests that Jean speak to her class about his occupation as a builder - an assignment Jean is flattered to accept. The presentation goes well and Véronique hesitantly asks Jean to repair a window in her home. Jean accepts the job (Anne-Marie thinks it is such a kind gesture that she asks Jean to invite Véronique to lunch). Jean replaces the window for the quietly reserved and anxious Véronique, and afterward Jean, noticing that Véronique plays the violin, requests she play for him a 'tune'. It is obvious that the peripatetic teacher is lonely, and it is also obvious that Jean is struck by the fact that a woman of education and musical talent would pay attention to a simple construction worker. In a weak moment the two exchange a kiss and that kiss alters the manner in which each of these two gentle people react to life. The results of this chance encounter play out in the conclusion of the story, a story so tender and yet so grounded in the realities of life that it takes the viewer by the heart and doesn't let go.

The many varying moments of intimacy, whether those moments are between Jean and his son, Jean and his father, Jean and his wife, and Jean with Mademoiselle Chambon, are photographed like paintings by cinematographer Antoine Héberlé. The entire cast is excellent and the performances by the five leading actors are superb. The musical score consists of original music by Ange Ghinozzi with a generous sampling of music by Sir Edward Elgar and others. This frail bouquet of a film appreciates silence, the unspoken word, and the natural emotions of ordinary people living ordinary lives. It is a multifaceted treasure.

Grady Harp

A measure of just how well recent French film Mademoiselle Chambon is constructed lies in a very small, although very subtle, moment between the two leads: one a married man and the other a single woman, which they share in one of the rooms in the home of that of the single woman's. He has voluntarily come round to check what she thinks is a draughty window frame, the gentleman deducing that it is indeed faulty; but as they stand over it and speak, director Stéphane Brizé places the camera in an adjacent room and shoots the interaction via a mid-shot of nothing in particular – we hang back from the specifics the two characters speak of: we know it isn't important, and the long take combining with the static camera as the chemistry the two have shared in other locales up to this point allows us to reach our own conclusions as to the dangerous places this bond is heading.

The film, a romance about characters we sense could really exist and would genuinely both do and say the things that transpire within, is a really rewarding minimalist piece working with the material at its own pace and bringing to life this tale that these two people share in its own way. At no point do we feel cheated, short-changed nor in the hands of any one who is doing any less than their utmost to tell a taut and engaging story about people at crossroads in their lives.

Set in an unspecified French town, the locale essentially doubling up as any town or city anywhere in the world, we cover Vincent Lindon's Jean and his love interest, the titular "Mademoiselle" Véronique Chambon, played by Sandrine Kiberlain. Jean is a builder, a scene on a site upon which he digs up tiled floors and generally demolishes a property so that the new inhabitants may reshape and rearrange it at their pleasure symptomatic with how he, as a man, will come to have his own feelings and emotions dismantled and reconstructed. His domestic set up sees him live with his wife Anne-Marie (Aure Atika) and their infant son Jérémy, their first scene together seeing the three of them attempt to decipher Jérémy's grammar homework and not appear to fully function as a family unit as they struggle to correctly deduce which parts of a certain sentence is the part Jérémy needs to reiterate is of a certain grammatical ilk.

The opening works on two levels, first and foremost as a sequence reiterating that there is room for this family unit of three to disagree and it goes a long way to get across the sense that there is this room for the three of them to fail to read off the same page – later on, things will become more heated as Jean goes through his wringer of emotion. Away from that, the scene additionally acts as a wonderful opener in its designs to wake the audience up; to ask them to perhaps join in with the grammatical problem proposed; to work it out for themselves – to get the mind working during this brief prelude to what is a riveting and intelligent character piece requiring such an attentive attitude. The boy speaks of how his teacher stood at the front of the class and spoke about what needs to be done in order to solve these problems; the sentiment being that his teacher wouldn't have the trouble in solving what everyone else is struggling over. It is this teacher, Kiberlain's aforementioned Véronique, with whom Jean will come to interact before later loving.

Guest lecturing at Jérémy's school in Véronique's class leads on to the visiting of her at home and the said repairing of her window, furthermore leading onto Jean requesting to hear her play the violin she owns. That last instance of Véronique plucking up enough courage to play in front of another human being for the first time in a while encapsulates the superb acting throughout, Brizé's insistence on a static camera shot from medium distances allowing us to fully appreciate just how well Kiberlain does as she sits there and wrestles with the proposal of playing for someone she's known only for about a week. One finds it difficult to recommend the film enough; it is so much more than a film fan's wet dream of static camera angles, extended takes and the French language, a burning and wholly engaging realist drama which ought to take its spot at the top of the tree regarding the best films of recent years.

The Twilight series specializes in teen longing, hours of vampires, were-wolves, and civilians longing for each other without much in the way of sex. That is dull viewing. But the French seem to get matters of the heart right, as in the full length film about longing, Mademoiselle Chambon.

Jean (Vincent Lindon) is a builder with an adorable boy and loving wife. Figuratively he has built a satisfying life, yet the opening shot is of tearing down, specifically a floor but contextually his life. Into this life comes his son's attractive teacher, Veronique Chambon, all violin playing and the sweetest disposition this side of the Virgin Mary. When he fixes her window, he also begins building a relationship hanging around the edges of adultery.

The longing comes from multiple shots with no dialogue, typically European, and specifically French, because there is an artistic joy in the languid shots. The actors express their sweet frustration with small movements of their eyes and mouths, and the camera stays with them for many seconds longer than the longest American takes.

The climax comes when Jean's pregnant wife sees Veronique play violin at his father's birthday and sees Jean's very sympathetic response. The final act has the most action, and that's not much, and not necessarily what you expected. However, it's done with the greatest subtlety as the tortured Jean makes his choices and the patient Veronique sheds just a few tears, but meaningful ones, so underplayed is her part.

It's all quiet and slow, just like most of our lives. Director Stephane Brize's love of this love affair and gentle Jean's attachment to his family is apparent from the opening sequence with the family figuring out what a "direct object" is to the low-key final trip to the train station.

Like Citizen Kane's Bernstein longing for the girl with the parasol, Jean will probably never be the same having experienced the tyranny of lyrical love, adulterous or not: Mademoiselle Chambon.

This is a simple story on kind people: Jean tries his best to live his life as a good person. When he describes his mason's job, we understand he likes it deeply and is quietly proud of it. His simplicity moves the teacher and the watchers. She invites him to see a problematic window in her flat. This change of window is like a symbol of what will be happening to them: Jean asks her to play the violin for him, and music will bring him elsewhere, beyond his today's limits -the classical music itself plays an important part, Jean is deeply moved by this discovery too, not only because she is playing the music herself-. This moment is for me a pure beauty. On her side, she is also brought to a new area in her life where there is someone who loves when she plays music, who is eager to learn and to open himself, someone who cares about others and about her: this is building confidence in her and adds a new depth in her interest in people and in life, although we understand there will be pain for both of them!No one wants to hurt any one around! The choice will have to be done and these good people will prefer being hurt themselves than their beloved around. When Jean asks her to accept and play the violin for his father' birthday party, he is so straightforward, so daring for a simple -nearly shy- person, that it seems clear he has reached also a new confidence, he has gone behind the window. We also think about what is exactly loving someone: Jean' wife understands so simply it means letting the other one be happy, grow and develop himself without trying to pressure him and use guilt. She is also building a new confidence in her husband and thus in life... This moment has been a very fulfilling for me: thank you Monsieur Brize!