Murmur of the Heart: Serraille Conquers Indifference Through Sincerity
With her third feature, Ari, director Léonor Serraille confirms a clear pattern of interest in exploring characters struggling for meaning and balance in their lives. Much like her 2017 debut, Jeune Femme, Serraille distills her focus on a protagonist who is suffocating in their own ennui, this time switching the perspective to a young man in his late twenties whose sensitivity towards others is exceptionally keen. There’s an earnestness and sincerity to Serraille’s latest which is difficult to convey without seeming mawkish or sentimental, but she strikes a balance which is effectively heartfelt. The film should serve as a major breakout for Andranic Manet who imbues his performance with an inviting gentleness which quietly reaches a meaningful crescendo.
Serraille’s set-up takes some time establishing itself as we become acclimated to Ari’s experiences. We meet him anxiously trying to introduce and read poetry to a group of primary aged school children which makes him seem hilariously out of touch with a chosen profession he might not be a right fit for. A fainting spell gets him a doctor’s recommendation to be off work for two months and he makes the decision to abandon the pursuit of this profession, which causes his working class father to kick him out of the house. With nowhere to go, Ari decides to couch surf with old friends who he has lost touch with over the past several years, and slowly we learn of the personal tragedy with his ex-girlfriend Irene (Clemence Coullon) and an unplanned pregnancy which he still appears to be defined by. However, nearly all of his old mates are navigating their own emotional and economic issues, and we learn Ari has a sort of gift (or perhaps hypersensitivity) towards them which allows him to see private visions from their lives which convey the realities they don’t want to admit.
Ari is undoubtedly a film which would easily be described as ‘very French,’ but it’s an exemplary contemporary example of a legacy long ago established in French cinema, where observing loquacious, perambulating characters feels like a form of the talking cure. One could easily envision this scenario as played by Jean-Pierre Léaud during the height of the Nouvelle Vague, but it’s also reminiscent of disillusioned twenty somethings grappling unhappily with careers and relationships from someone like Noah Baumbach, who touches similarly on these specific life experiences in his 1995 debut Kicking and Screaming.
The film opens with Ari as a small child, his mother explaining he was named after the second child of French painter Odilon Redon, whose first son tragically died. The arrival of his second son completely chained the painter’s methods, adopting color into his output. While it would seem this would be a conversation too advanced for a child of his age, he comprehends, which explains his own curious approach to teaching young children. As he winds his way down old paths, joyousness and resentment intermingle, sometimes quite surprisingly. And, yes, eventually we get to the expected reunion with dear Irene which has potent reckonings for both of them. But each of these pit stops down Ari’s memory lane convey warmth and intimacy, which Serraille also plays with in unique ways, including an interaction with a handsome gardener (Mikael Don Giancarli) suggesting an effortless fluidity to life’s experiences. But one must not only be open to receiving but also be curious about others. Essentially, as Ari vocalizes, it’s a film about reconnecting to people in a world which more often rewards the opposite behavior.
Reviewed on February 15th at the 2025 Berlin International Film Festival (75th edition) – Main Competition. 88 mins.
★★★½/☆☆☆☆☆
