I had put Petite Maman (2021) off for years. When it came out, covid was upon us, theaters were closed, and this pearl of a film, Céline Sciamma’s follow-up to her masterpiece Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019), came and went. Despite missing it, I knew watching it was inevitable, like some life event you hope will go as well as possible: minor surgery, for example. I had skirted around the edges of its reviews enough to see that it should be great, but I was always careful not to spoil even the smallest detail of the story. Years of avid criticism consumption make one an expert in foreseeing and avoiding spoilers. A year or two later, I bought the Criterion Collection edition, and on my shelf it rested for another year or two still. Part of me just enjoyed having something to look forward to. A guaranteed hit, ready to be trotted out when most needed. A “break glass in case of emergency” type deal.
It turns out that there aren’t often emergencies that movies can solve, but a new year and a fresh start is a good enough reason as any to finally break that glass. Petite Maman tells the story of a young girl, Nelly (Joséphine Sanz) whose grandmother has passed away. As the film opens, she goes from room to room of the hospice she had been frequently visiting, thoughtfully bidding farewell to the women down the hallway from where her grandmother stayed. Later, we will learn that there is a depth to these farewells that we couldn’t have initially seen. Like all of the films in Sciamma’s short but breathtaking resumé, people will reveal themselves in ways that make you feel like you know them. Nelly joins her mother (Nina Meurisse) who is clearly grieving her own mother, in an empty hospice room after her goodbyes. They set off for home.
It is within five minutes of starting this film that you will understand what sets Sciamma apart as a filmmaker. The few plot elements that we need are in place: we understand the characters and the situation, so Sciamma is now free to blast us with sheer movie-making virtuosity. The mother and daughter get into their car, mom in the driver’s seat, daughter directly behind her in the back. In profile, we watch the mother start to drive, her face stiff, upbeat but in pain. The daughter asks cheerfully: “Is it snack time!?” It’s a question meant to convey the simplicity of youth, but we soon understand the wisdom that can hide in youth. The camera holds on to Mom while we hear cheese puffs being crunched on. Mom is still grieving, even if she’s trying to hide it for the sake of Nelly. A hand punches into the frame: cheese puff for mom. The sincere comic effect works on the audience and mother. She takes a bite. The driving continues, the camera holding steady. Blam: the hand punches forward again with another cheese puff. Somehow, it’s funnier this time. The audience and Mom chuckle again, and we go back to driving. Our minds start to think about what’s next. Boom, another cheese puff. It would take a hardened heart not to be moved: a daughter consoling her mother after a tragedy. Right as the joke starts to wear thin, the daughter’s arms appear again and wrap around her Mom as she drives.
The tears will easily flow with this movie. Within ten minutes, I was shifting on the couch to a position where it would be harder for my wife to see how easily the movie cut to my emotional quick. The only filmmaker I can compare to this is the great Miyazaki, who understands how children see the world better than anyone. Sciamma takes Miyazaki’s expertise into a new direction, though, as she empathetically connects the view of the child with the view of the parent. Nelly spends a few nights in her mother’s childhood home and looks at her mother in a way we don’t expect. Children are capable of incredible grace, but it can be hard to see from an adult perspective, and Petite Maman’s ability to show this is truly lovely. As if this gift of youthful poise wasn’t enough, the film is also a craftsman’s delight: The title’s double entendre hiding in wait for the lucky, unspoiled future viewers. The aforementioned scene in the car with perfect comic-strip timing, the banter between parents and children that feels like Calvin and Hobbes, and my personal favorite: a scene in which a father is wishing his daughter goodnight, asking her if she wants to stay up a bit. “No, I’m trying to teleport to tomorrow.” The father, chuckling, obliges. “Activate teleporting to tomorrow.” He flips the light, and the film smash cuts to the next day. Even when we’d like to fast forward and find some respite for a numb pain, life can be so sweet.
Petite Maman
Written and Directed by Céline Sciamma
2021
72 minutes
French
Recommended way to watch (at time of publication): Stream for free on Kanopy with a public library card
You’ll like this if you like: My Neighbor Totoro (1988), Girlhood (2014), or Matilda (1996)