Serre moi fort

Matthieu Amalric's fine French film HOLD ME TIGHT begins with a woman leaving her husband and two kids (a boy and a girl) and driving away while they sleep. Or, so it seems.

Clarisse (Vicky Krieps) does leave her husband Marc (Arieh Worthalter) and children (played by four different actors at various points). But, was it this morning? Yesterday? Tomorrow? Or, ever? Amalric's screenplay adaptation of Claudine Galea's play, immediately makes it clear that little of what we see can be taken either linearly or even, literally.

Clarisse reveals herself slowly, but it's all purposely fragmented: She travels to a resort in the mountains. Visits a friend at a coffee shop. Takes on a part-time job. Flirts with men. All the while, she imagines what is happening to her family back home. Do they miss her? Are they angry with her decision? Better off without her? Amalric is constantly challenging the viewer. At various points, Clarisse seems to be almost telepathically communicating with her husband and children, even physically moving through their lives like a form of ghost.

Amalric's deft handling of difficult material shows a strong director's sense, Best known in the U. S. for his acting in QUANTUM OF SOLACE, GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL and DIVING BELL AND THE BUTTERFLY, Almaric has now directed a half-dozen features and his experience on both sides of the camera are on clear display here. Amalric is abetted by the exceptional Krieps (PHANTOM THREAD, BERGMAN ISLAND) in the leading role. Krieps has a natural presence where she can appear to be both accessible and mysterious at the same time - open, yet never truly revealing. It's those very qualities which make the movie so intriguing no matter how inscrutable it may seem at times.

At a couple of key moments, we see Clarisse fumbling over a stack of old Polaroids. Are they her experiences? Her memories? Or, apparitions? After all, what are ghosts but memories? Moments in time to hold on to. And cherished in the moment.

When viewing a film that's presented as a puzzle, one certainly hopes that everything will make sense at the end. Of course, if that result is to be at all satisfactory, the narrative for getting viewers to that conclusion needs to be equally engaging. Unfortunately, that's where writer-director Mathieu Amalric's latest offering loses its way. While the story of a wife and mother (Vicky Krieps) desperate to leave her family starts out strong (especially since her reasons for doing so are far from clear), audiences are likely to think that they're in store for a compelling ride, a mystery that's going to deliciously reveal itself as the story plays out. However, after this noteworthy beginning, the picture spins its yarn in a highly fractured way, mixing a variety of images that appear to draw from current activity, flashbacks and envisioned futures (some even of a fantasy nature), all thrown together in a somewhat haphazard fashion that constitutes more muddle than riddle. One can readily assume that this jumble of imagery is indicative of what's going on in the protagonist's mind, but that's not always clear nor is the cause for it. Thankfully, the filmmaker manages to tie up all of the various strands by picture's end, but it asks viewers to go back and reassemble the pieces that lead its conclusion, and, frankly, that seems like an awful lot of work to go through after a protracted stretch of film where it's easy for audience members to lose interest. To its credit, this release provides an excellent showcase for Krieps, backed by gorgeous cinematography and a superb classical music score, as well as its fine opening sequence. But these strengths aren't enough to compensate for the shortcomings and an overall approach that often seems contrived and certainly sacrifices substance for style. This is the kind of picture that will definitely appeal to the arthouse crowd, but average moviegoers are likely to find it pretentious, self-important and needlessly cryptic, qualities that detract from what could have been more involving had the filmmakers kept matters simpler and less enigmatic.

Hold Me Tight, directed by Mathieu Amalric, opens with Clarisse, a woman who seems to make a sudden, baffling decision. She wakes early, tidies the house, and quietly leaves, abandoning her husband and two children as they sleep. Panic sets in when her family realizes she's not coming back, and questions loom over her disappearance. Amalric's unconventional structure begins to reveal itself as we follow Clarisse's journey in a hazy, fragmented timeline that blurs the boundaries of reality and fantasy, leaving us uncertain about the truth.

From early on, we sense that something isn't quite right with Clarisse. She confronts a stranger, accusing him of mistreating her son, and then, strangely, applies fish-market ice to her face. These moments are surreal yet grounded, gradually revealing how Hold Me Tight plays with the very fabric of time and memory. Amalric masterfully guides us through a narrative that jumps across time, space, and even Clarisse's own imagination. As scenes transition lyrically between what's real and what might not be, a deeper, darker truth emerges, reshaping our understanding of her departure.

The film's driving force is Vicky Krieps' deeply nuanced performance as Clarisse, whose portrayal becomes even more compelling as the layers of her story unravel. By the time we reach the film's midpoint, we're able to confront her situation more directly, and Amalric's fragmented narrative begins to come into clearer focus. In the end, Hold Me Tight is an exploration of grief and longing that resists conventional interpretation, inviting us instead into a complex, hauntingly beautiful meditation on loss.

This movie is great: it gathers a lot of intensity and power that go through the spectator. Mathieu Amalric in the directing did an extraordinaire work: the plot, the shots, the editing...real great stuff.

He created a movie that deserves a lot of credit. It's common to find a film that has a great story and an ambitious use of the skills to tell the story itself.

Don't miss it!

Grief is a compelling theme in cinema. Indeed, it's a subject that is persistently explored in the arts - grief is inevitable, all-encompassing and unforgiving: it is intertwined with time, and can only be experienced in time. But what version of time is commonly associated or portrayed with grief, but a linear one? In Serre moi fort (2021) by actor-turned director-Mathieu Amalric (you may know him from his performances in Le scaphandre et le papillon and The Grand Budapest Hotel), there is a singular subversion of this trend, and though non-linear time as a concept has been around awhile now, in cinematic language, in this masterfully done work, it has appeared anew, and so we arrive at an unconventionality.

"Serre moi fort" or "Hold Me Tight", adapted from an unpublished play by Claudine Galea, tells the story of a woman, played by the phenomenal Vicky Krieps (is it a coincidence?), recounting her departure from her family... or does it? The film's description suggests as much. Without revealing too much and risking spoilers, I can say that the description aptly encapsulates the essence of "Serre moi fort", and more broadly, the central conflict of the art form itself, which lies in its mysteries, riddles, puzzles, and the struggle for definition - in this case, the definition of grief.

Grief can be seen as a state, a reaction, or a series of reactions to loss. And what is loss but an event that has occurred? In cinema, and in real life too, loss is perceived as something that has passed. Even though this is our usual perception, the true expression of grief is never fully captured - we may cry, we may scream, we may categorize it into stages, but the internal experience is not easily discernible, if at all. I believe that films have the potential to portray grief as something diverse: a variable, so to speak. This is what "Serre moi fort" has achieved to perfection, in my view: through experimenting with filmic sequencing, it is able to present grief as a malady that may lessen in symptomatic intensity over time but resurfaces, again and again, in tender moments, in lucid desperation of a long day. "Serre moi fort" also depicts grief as hallucinations, delusions, and projections, working similarly to nostalgia in enabling you to revisit the past, modify it, and learn from it. It is unreasonably visual, seen through the inner eye - which, perhaps, the medium of film can best convey to us.

So long as one knows grief and has grief, like Clarisse does.