Fantastic!

The film's masterful storytelling did its job. The message was clear. No need to overdo.

It's the kind of movie you'll want to see a second time with someone who hasn't seen it yet, to remember what it was like to watch it for the first time.

All of these films share one commonality, that being a kind of emotional center that humanizes a cast of monsters.

It leaves you a weird feeling afterwards, if, like me, you enjoy and believe in free life-styles. Because she was really free, in advance on her time, never cared about other's opinions... which is something I entirely admire and quite try to do. But she ended up alone, pathetically alone. And this makes you wonder if this life-style you aim to reach is a good choice. Strangely I am convinced it wasn't the aim of the movie, to make you wonder about the emptiness of her life. So maybe it's me again who is projecting (some worries nowadays about where my Independence drives me?). Or maybe, as we say in French, you can't have the butter and the money for the butter, meaning, every life-style choice has negative consequences: chose freedom, you will end up alone; chose love and commitment to others, you will end up feeling coerced. In any case, happiness is not at the end, so enjoy the moment...

Thirty two years ago Diane Kurys wrote and directed Diabolo Menthe, a thinly-disguised autobiographical take on the childhood of her sister and herself. She followed with others in the same vein, Coup de foudre, La Baule le Pins etc, all beautifully realised. Now, thirty one years later - Sagan was shot as a two-part TV special and aired in 2008 - she has finally come full circle with a genuine BIOgraphy, namely Francoise Sagan, who was catapulted to fame via a novel she batted out in her school vacation, Bonjour, Tristesse. It wasn't actually a very good novel any more than its successors, A Certain Smile, Aimez-vouz Brahms but none of them were outright trash, all sold in droves and all were filmed. The movie has been considerably pared down from its original 180 minutes so it's difficult to be too harsh at what often seem abrupt modulations - the housekeeper/companion who appears seemingly out of the blue during Sagan's last few years, for example. Sylvie Testud is one of the finest French actresses of her generation and I can't recall a single bad performance (though I have not seen everything) and here she is at the top of her game managing to capture the sense of someone permitting Life to live them rather than vice versa. There is fine support especially from Denis Podalydes and Jeanne Balibar but it will be remembered as a curio rather than an essential part of the canon.

Sagan's charisma lies in two elements: her intelligence and sincerity. She is apt at using simple but touching words and phrases, for example, the monologue on the first page of Bonjour, Tristesse. Her legendary life, full of inspiration, enthusiasm, caprice, sometimes looks like an enigma, mysterious and compellent,even her unconventional behavior looks acceptable. Though the film seems to be a little bit insipid, or rather dull, lacking passion and elegancy;the final scene her unreal talk to his son is truly moving. Sylvie Testud's casting is admirable, and i think she wears a unique temperament, close to a temperament of a poet and aristocratic temperament.

Why another biopic? Why biopics at all? Writer-director Diane Kurys doesn't know. Perhaps so you have something to take your mother to. But chances are she'd fall asleep. Francoise Sagan may have had an exciting life, but you certainly wouldn't know from this movie. It feels like the entire cast and crew were high on 875, that mysterious morphine Sagan was a slave to half her life. Because nothing ever happens, you will quickly find your mind wandering to the fringes of the screen. Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe it's even a cinematic strategy, but I wouldn't bet on it. Take Florence Malraux, the eminent writer's daughter. Played by Margot Abascal, she is so much more vibrant and adorable than everybody else you wonder why the movie isn't about her. Or take the shady guy: When Francoise and Peggy, drunk as hell, check into the Hotel Raphael for a little lesbian loving, they pass a nameless stranger walking the other way. I wonder what his story is. Where is he going, wearing giant shades, in the middle of the night? Perhaps I should have followed him.