Le père de mes enfants (The Father of My Children)

by James McNally on September 13, 2009

in Film Festivals,TIFF

Le père de mes enfants (The Father of My Children)
Editor’s Note: The fol­lowing review and the recorded Q&A both con­tain what might be con­sidered spoilers. Although I don’t con­sider this film one that requires the viewer to go in com­pletely blind, con­sider your­self forewarned.

Le père de mes enfants (The Father of My Children) (Director: Mia Hansen-Løve): Grégoire Canvel is a har­ried wheeler-dealer of a film pro­ducer with a loving wife and three beau­tiful daugh­ters. But he can barely find the time to see them with the never-ending demands of his job. Although he has all the trap­pings of suc­cess, including a house in the coun­tryside, his com­pany is facing bank­ruptcy due to years of accu­mu­lating debt. To make mat­ters worse, he is in the midst of a film shoot with a demanding Swedish auteur who doesn’t know the meaning of the word “budget.” Although this sounds like a farce, it quickly becomes a tragedy.

Grégoire is over­ex­tended in every way. He’s facing fin­an­cial ruin and per­sonal burnout, but he can’t seem to stop. Played with shaggy charm by Louis-Do de Lencquesaing, he is the centre of the world for both his employees and his family, but it’s wearing him out. Halfway through the film, he takes his own life. Though I can’t speak for the entire audi­ence, this hit me hard because after spending not even an hour with him, I’d grown to love him too. You can see how a char­acter like this could coast along for years without taking care of his fin­ances. He was sup­porting artists and the com­merce part came second. Admirable, but tra­gic­ally foolish.

Understandably, the second part of the film loses a tre­mendous amount of momentum. His wife Sylvia takes over his failing com­pany and tries to keep it afloat, though more to tie up loose ends rather than any real desire. His oldest daughter, teen­aged Clémence (played by Alice de Lencquesaing, the real-life daughter of Louis-Do) floats through her grief, cul­tiv­ating her own interest in film and dis­cov­ering some secrets about her father. Critics have been keen to point out this change of tone and pace as a weak­ness in the film, but I’m not sure it isn’t entirely inten­tional. The film flails without the pres­ence of the man everyone loved, and to me that’s a brave rep­res­ent­a­tion of the empti­ness left by Grégoire’s death.

The film is crammed with lovely details which give it the tex­ture of an authentic life. The scenes of the family together are heart­break­ingly idyllic in the begin­ning, and just heart­breaking by the end. The children’s dia­logue, their games and their rela­tion­ship with their father are all won­der­fully nat­ural, and the per­form­ances, espe­cially by the chil­dren, are extremely strong. In the post-screening Q&A, pro­ducer David Thion explained that the story, though fic­tional, was a response to the real-life sui­cide of French pro­ducer Humbert Balsan. He said that Hansen-Løve was working out her own feel­ings of grief and loss, and per­haps, I might add, trying to show her­self and the rest of us what is really important.

Director Mia Hansen-Løve is in the latter stages of preg­nancy and couldn’t travel to the fest­ival. Here is the Q&A with pro­ducer David Thion from after the screening:

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Duration: 16:05

8/10(8/10)

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