Latest news with #LoveMeTender
Yahoo
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
‘Love Me Tender' Review: Vicky Krieps Ignites an Elegant and Moving Portrait of Motherhood at Odds With Selfhood
Even in supposedly enlightened societies it is practically an article of faith that a woman's identity as a mother must supercede all her other identities. Not only that: any woman not willing to sacrifice all the other love in her life for the love of her child is unnatural, an aberration and the ultimate taboo: a bad mother. Anna Cazenave Cambet's sweeping, moving 'Love Me Tender,' based on the semi-autobiographical novel by Constance Debré, aims at the heart of this pervasive ideology of hypocrisy and unreachably high expectations, and largely thanks to a rivetingly radiant Vicky Krieps, hits its mark with painful accuracy. The paths to what is socially deemed success as a mother are few and narrow and heavily policed, but there are a million ways to fail. Krieps, lean and rangy in T-shirts and denim, plays Clémence, a divorced writer who used to be a lawyer, and amicably shares custody of her eight-year-old son Paul (Viggo Ferreira-Redier) with her ex-husband Laurent (Antoine Reinartz, so memorable as the prosecuting attorney in 'Anatomy of a Fall.') We're introduced to a contented and excited Clémence who seems in the wake of major self-revelation. At the pool one day she swims her laps, casually hooks up with a woman in her changing cabin, then emerges to a sunny Parisia day and phones her kid. He asks her how far she swam today. In a little ritual between them, she shows him the sky. More from Variety Vicky Krieps, Christian Friedel Join Aimee Lou Wood, Johnny Flynn in Malgorzata Szumowska, Michal Englert's 'The Idiots' Vicky Krieps Has Yet to Recover From Cannes Custody Drama 'Love Me Tender': 'This Film Pushed Me to My Limit' Vicky Krieps' 'Love Me Tender' Boarded by Be For Films Ahead of Cannes Un Certain Regard Premiere (EXCLUSIVE) DP Kristy Baboul's warm, loose camera swirls around her as a classical viola plays — some days are just good days — but Clémence has not yet told Laurent (let alone Paul) that she's seeing women now. So she arranges a meeting with her ex in a familiar cafe and breaks the news, trusting of his reaction, confident in his understanding. In fact, it's almost funny, the way it plays out, with Laurent's fake ok-with-it response followed by an inordinately long pull on his drink. But later, in retrospect, we'll understand the undercurrents in that clever scene, and wonder if Clémence's lighthearted demeanor, and her friendly but firm rebuff of the pass Laurent makes at her later, are what causes his unthinkable bitterness to brew. Because Clémence's newfound sexual freedom obscurely rouses Laurent to inflict the most vindictive ongoing revenge on her. First simply keeping Paul from her, lawyer Laurent then gets the courts involved, filing spurious allegations of the ugliest kind in a successful bid to get her custody suspended entirely. The damage this will do to Paul never seems to be a factor. Here the film, like Clémence's life, forks into two: One part of her carries on her professional, personal and romantic life, the other takes on the near-full-time job of fighting through a legal quagmire to have her maternal rights restored. Even though all involved understand she is blameless, the tortuous process drags on to the extent that she will not see Paul for 18 months, or as she says in voiceover (sparingly but eloquently excerpted from the work of autofiction Clémence is writing) 'two of her birthdays, one of his.' Even then, she is restricted to brief sessions under supervision by a social worker(Aurélia Petit). 'Can I hold him on my lap?' she begs, and the ensuing embrace is a heartbreaking relief, but far from the end of the story. At over two hours, 'Love Me Tender' feels a little too long, especially once Clémence's relationship with journalist Sarah (Monia Chokri) gets more serious. Chokri is slightly miscast and their relationship, despite a nicely frank sex scene involving the practiced use of a strap-on, is less convincing in its chemistry than, say, Clémence's nightclub hookup with Victoire (an underused Park Ji-min from 'Return to Seoul'). But time spent hanging out with Clémence and her flatmate Leo (Julien de Saint-Jean), or her father (Féofor Atkine) cannot feel wasted when Krieps' inhabitation of the role is so complete. It's an enormous, generous performance, even her body language changes — slinky and nonchalant when circling a new lover, loose-limbed and girlish when relaxing with friends, and tight and compressed in that horrible mediation room, her burners on low, her expression concentrated like she's willing her heart to slow its beat. After this year's excellent 'We Believe You' from Belgium and 2023's 'All to Play For' starring a terrific Virginie Efira, Francophone dramas following mothers embroiled in family court custody disputes are having quite a moment. 'Love Me Tender' is a notable addition to the trend, for Krieps, but also for its sorrowful but stirring ending: Clémence makes a transgressive, devastatingly difficult decision, into which is woven the slenderest hope that, as we learn to appreciate loving mothers who are also complicated women, it may one day not seem so very transgressive at all. Best of Variety The Best Albums of the Decade
Yahoo
20-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
‘Love Me Tender' Review: Vicky Krieps Anchors a Hard-Hitting Chronicle of Motherhood and Sexual Freedom That Overstays Its Welcome
If there are two things you can say about art house ingenue Vicky Krieps, it's that she's the most internationally famous actor to ever emerge from the tiny European nation of Luxembourg, and that she rarely takes on roles that could be considered easy or light. After breaking out in Phantom Thread, starring as a model who turns the tables on her abusive boss/boyfriend, she's been drawn towards characters who are either living on the edge or going through hell. In the past three years alone, she's played a woman stricken with a rare debilitating illness (More Than Ever); a renown Austrian poet whose life was tragically cut short (Ingeborg Bachmann — Journey into the Desert); a tight-lipped U.S. border cop who kills a migrant and tries to get away with it (The Wall); and a frontier wife who's brutally raped, then winds up dying of syphilis (The Dead Don't Hurt). More from The Hollywood Reporter 'Splitsville' Review: Dakota Johnson and Adria Arjona in a Winning Indie Comedy That Puts Two Divorcing Couples Through the Wringer 'Eagles of the Republic' Review: Movies Collide With Political Might in Tarik Saleh's Dark and Clever Conspiracy Thriller Julia Ducournau Stuns Cannes With 'Alpha' What's fascinating about Krieps is how she seems to nonchalantly plunge headfirst into such parts, never resting on her laurels and always digging deep to find emotion in tough places. If the movies she stars in aren't all memorable, Krieps is usually memorable in all of them. That's certainly the case with Love Me Tender, a hard-hitting French chronicle of motherhood and independence based on lawyer-turned-author Constance Debré's 2020 book. Adapted and directed by Anna Cazenave Cambet (Gold for Dogs), the Cannes entry is both moody and intermittently moving, revealing the many hurdles a woman faces when her former husband tries to get full custody of their son. But the drama, which starts off powerfully, fizzles in the second half. While it works its way toward an intriguing conclusion, it takes its time to get there (running 134 minutes) tends to lose focus. Thankfully, Krieps anchors things with her typically committed performance, portraying a mother torn apart by the French legal system and an extremely vindictive ex, all the while trying to find herself sexually and intellectually. Love Me Tender certainly doesn't shy away from the frank eroticism of its heroine, Clémence (Krieps), whom we first see randomly hooking up with a woman in the changing room of a Paris swimming pool. A voiceover, taken verbatim from Debré's 'autofictional' book, reveals that Clémence has been separated for three years from her longtime husband, Laurent (Antoine Reinartz), with whom she's been splitting care of their 8-year-old son, Paul (Viggo Ferreira-Redier). When she tells Laurent she's begun to see women romantically, he takes the news so badly that he cuts off all communication and hires a lawyer to get full custody. From there, things only get worse. The movie's strongest moments revolve around Clémence's many efforts to see Paul again — a quest that becomes increasingly Kafkaesque as Laurent doubles down on his attempts to block her. There are only a handful of scenes between the separated spouses, yet they are loaded with tension and resentment. Reinartz portrays Laurent as a guy whose manhood has clearly been offended by Clémence's turn towards lesbianism, and who uses their son to punish her. We never cut to Laurent's point of view, but it seems likely he spends his off hours surfing the manosphere. Despite her ex's many efforts to thwart her, Clémence does finally get to see Paul again, although only under the supervision of a court-appointed social worker (Aurélia Petit). The first time that happens, about an hour into the action, is definitely the film's emotional high point. Krieps appears both tender and tragic in that long sequence, her character unable to speak because she's so overcome by the presence of her son. A parallel storyline details Clémence's rocky romantic life as she seeks out partners in bars, restaurants and nightclubs, hoping to meet someone who's more than just a one-night stand. Cambet juxtaposes those scenes, some of which are sensual and explicit, with all the turmoil Clémence faces in her long and painful battle to get Paul back. The more she seems to liberate herself from the past — seeking new sexual experiences, writing novels instead of working as a lawyer, sleeping in garrets instead of fancy bourgeois apartments — the more Clémence is entrapped by the life she left behind. She loves Paul and wants to care for him, but the vengeful Laurent, along with a few lawyers and judges, seem to believe she can't be both a great mom and a freethinking lesbian. Clémence's predicament at times recalls that of the mother played by Virginie Efira in the 2023 French drama All to Play For, which also premiered in Cannes' Un Certain Regard. But whereas that film's rhythm and intensity never let up, Love Me Tender meanders too much in its second half, especially when Clémence sparks up a serious relationship with a journalist (Monia Chokri) she meets in a café. Another plotline involving Clémence's ailing father (Féodor Atkine) doesn't lead anywhere special, and the movie becomes more of a wavering chronicle. Cambet coaxes strong turns from Krieps and the rest of the actors, including newcomer Ferrera-Redier as the moody if lovable Paul. But she's probably too faithful to Debré's book, failing to shape the film into a gripping narrative and relying on a constant voiceover filled with the writer's musings, some of which comes across as platitudes ('Love is brutal,' etc.). The closing scenes nonetheless lead to a denouement that you seldom see in movies about mothers fighting to get their kids back. Rather than finishing with the usual triumph over adversity moment, Love Me Tender takes a detour towards something darker and perhaps more honest. For all her struggles to deflect the judgement of other people (her ex, social workers, the courts), Clémence finally learns that you can't please everyone, nor hope to have it both ways. But you can, perhaps, manage to please yourself. 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Yahoo
20-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
‘My Father's Shadow' Review: First-Ever Nigerian Film at Cannes Is an Elegant and Stirring Ode to Lagos
Akinola Davies Jr.'s gorgeous debut My Father's Shadow takes place during a consequential day in Nigerian politics. It's June 12, 1993, and the country is holding its first election since a coup in the early 80s. One president represents a new hope for the postcolonial nation, while the other would maintain the incumbent military rule. While the frenzied, anxious energy of history in the making permeates the air, two young boys attempt to stave off boredom. For Akin (Godwin Chimerie Egbo) and Remi (Chibuike Marvellous Egbo), brothers living on the outskirts of Lagos, this day, at first, feels like any other. When we meet the brothers, they are lounging in front of their home, bickering about sharing toys and trying to keep cool in the punishing heat. More from The Hollywood Reporter 'It Was Just an Accident' Review: Iranian Auteur Jafar Panahi Returns to Cannes With an Artful Tale of Trauma and Revenge 'Love Me Tender' Review: Vicky Krieps Anchors a Hard-Hitting Chronicle of Motherhood and Sexual Freedom That Overstays Its Welcome Ari Aster, Lars Knudsen on Cannes Dreams, Nightmares and Surfing Their Momentum There is a familiar lyricism to the way that Davies Jr., working with cinematographer Jermaine Edwards, opens his film. The shots are intimate and lean into the poetry of a child's perspective, in the vein of Raven Jackson's All Dirt Roads Taste of Salt and the early part of RaMell Ross' Nickel Boys. Like these directors, Davies Jr. tailors the impressionistic style of older Black filmmakers (think Julie Dash, Arthur Jafa, Charles Burnett) to his own sensibilities. The persistent buzz of flies, the faint sound of wind through leaves and the coos of animals in the distance also help set the stage for this delicate story. It's not until the boys go inside the house, where they happen upon their father Folarian, an emotionally distant and imposing figure played finely by Sopé Dirisu (Slow Horses), that their day takes a dramatic turn. He interrogates the boys about a missing watch. They are frozen by his presence, as if they have just seen a ghost. Premiering at Cannes in the Un Certain Regard sidebar, My Father's Shadow chronicles an unexpected adventure Folarian takes with Akin and Remi. The film — which is, embarrassingly, the first one from Nigeria to ever play at the festival — is a semi-autobiographical tale written by Davies Jr. and his brother Wale Davies about experiences with their father, who died when they were young. Davies Jr. never loses sight of the project's intimacy. My Father's Shadow coaxes viewers into Akin and Remi's world from the first frame, proceeding to offer a heartbreaking reflection on father-son relationships and a nation on the cusp of change. The film has a loose relationship to linearity and an oblique narrative (much like Ramata-Toulaye Sy's Banel & Adama, which premiered at Cannes a few years ago) that might be trying for some viewers. But for willing participants, Davies Jr. offers an arresting, impressionistic portrait of Lagos. After some convincing, Folarian decides to take his sons to Lagos for the day, using it as an opportunity to forge a stronger emotional connection. They board a danfo — an informal network of mini-buses — which introduces the boys to new sights and sounds. Vibrant personalities aboard the bus and later in Lagos replace the muggy atmosphere of their rural home, the low hum of passengers gossiping and rapidly exchanging political opinions supplanting the buzz of insects as a sonic backdrop. Through these conversations, Akin and Remi learn about a massacre at Bonny Camp, where the military killed four boys, and the political stakes of this day become clearer. Lagos also gives Akin and Remi a glimpse into their father's past. Flitting from one corner of the city to the other, they meet his friends, who share tales about their father's days as a bachelor. Davies Jr.' favors a story in flashes, so the narrative can feel patchy at times, leaving viewers wanting more information about the these characters. The best moments of My Father's Shadow are the stolen ones between Folarian and his sons. While there is some overly sentimental exposition in these encounters, they are easy to forgive because of the restrained performances and gentle visuals. As a Nigerian father caught between obligations to his family and a suggested hidden political life, Folarian struggles with an internal tension that Dirisu brings to the surface with a performance marked by controlled physicality and pained facial expressions. The character tries to advise his sons, but he's also wrestling with his own moral contradictions. Both Chimerie Egbo and Marvellous Egbo, first-timers, give fine performances too, especially when it comes to rendering the capricious moods of children rejecting and seeking approval from the estranged adults in their life. The day in Lagos initially unfolds at an easygoing speed, punctuated by moments of minor drama. But as evening approaches and the election count draws to a close, Davies Jr.'s film assumes an anxious layer. The city becomes a charged arena as the incumbent preemptively establishes a curfew and soldiers patrol the streets. Folarian worries that he won't be able to get Remi and Akin home, and before he can formulate a plan, violence breaks out. Deft editing by Omar Guzman Castro eases us into these more jolting moments that echo the somber reflections of the Nigerian writer Chris Abani in his poem 'Mango Chutney,' which he wrote during his days as a political prisoner in the years preceding this historic election: I never get used to the amount ofblood; bodies drop like so many flowers. Eyes stare, bright and alive, intoanother world. And death becomes some men. Others wear it shamefully; others still, defiantly, Their protest choking, suffocating. My Father's Shadow includes frenzied scenes of the unrest that broke out after the results of that election were annulled by the incumbent, squashing the hope of millions and ushering in another chapter of military rule. Davies Jr. deftly connects the broken promises of the nation state with the fragility of the family at the center of his story. It's in these final scenes of this impressive debut that he displays his full promise as a filmmaker. 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Scroll.in
05-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Scroll.in
Short fiction: A middle-aged man quits his job to become an Elvis Presley impersonator
Karthik caressed the fabric as if it were the cheek of a loved one. He used the back of his palm, allowing the cloth to shift and slide against his fingers, pulling his hand away guiltily when he noticed the grime beneath his fingernails. Sheathed in plastic, the outfit hung at the back of an olive-green Godrej cupboard, tucked to the right and out of sight. He should have washed his hands. He hoped it still glimmered the way it had when he had set eyes on it a little over a decade ago at Chagganlal Dresswallah's store in Juhu. It had felt like a summoning, his eyes settling on a corner of its sleeve as it peeked out from a waving mass of hot pink and turquoise. It had cost more than his monthly salary at the time, and he remembered the salesman stifling a bored smile as he handed over the clothes and pointed to a cashier at the front of the store. What could a dark-skinned boy want an Elvis Presley costume for? He could have his answer today, Karthik thought grimly, if they were to meet. Pushing the outfit aside as he reached for a plaid shirt, he recalled the first time he had heard the voice of the King. It was 'Love Me Tender', requested in all probability by some teenager on Saturday Date, the radio show he used to tune into religiously, the way their Christian neighbours went to church on Sundays. He remembered how surprisingly crisp it had sounded in his one-room apartment, pouring out of a new Murphy set that glowed dimly in their poorly lit room. That was when his father was still around, months before he disappeared into the dusty sands of Bahrain, lost either to an industrial accident or the arms of another woman. Karthik would never know because his mother never mentioned her husband again. All that remained of him were two sweaters – his other clothing exchanged for steel utensils – and a faded wedding photograph placed within the folds of a fancy sari she would never wear. His father must have purchased the radio as one of those final displays of largesse – overcompensation for an inability to connect with his wife and son. Other memories rose gently to the surface as Karthik buttoned up his shirt: talent competitions at school, Diwali parties at the office, his arm swirling in imaginary circles as he went down on one knee while miming Presley's hits. The lyrics to 'Hound Dog' came to mind and the more obscure 'Promised Land'. Then, the reactions to his impressions, silent astonishment giving way to laughter and derision. He stopped dressing and breathed heavily. Elvis Presley had died in 1977, and no one would stand the idea of him being resurrected by a South Indian impersonator. That wouldn't stop him, though, no matter how much they laughed. It was all he had left. The sounds of Kalina rushed in from the outside as if a window was suddenly flung open. He would be late if he didn't leave quickly. To think of the past was an exercise in frustration, he reminded himself, shutting the cupboard and getting on with the business of living. Walking into his office at KC & Sons Bathroom Fittings in Lower Parel an hour later, he felt his shoulders droop in a familiar fashion. They fell in step with how time always appeared to slow down within these premises, taking on the texture of molasses. The company had moved to the area decades before large malls and fine dining restaurants appeared, at a time when everyone would drive past that dismal corner of Bombay without stopping. Now, KC & Sons owned the building. Moving into his cubicle, Karthik turned on his computer and double-clicked the day's first Excel sheet. Voices rose and fell around him, conversations broken by a loud remark or an inappropriate joke. He didn't look up. He had no illusions of how dispensable his role in the accounts department was, but it was all he had known. This was where he had worked for almost three decades now, the first company he had applied to after graduating with a degree in commerce. It allowed his mother to finally stop running a tiffin service to pay for his education. He had spent years with his eyes fixed on columns and rows. Colleagues, who had long moved to better jobs, would ask him about girlfriends or an arranged marriage, then stopped joking about his sexuality when it became apparent that he was happy to share a room with just his mother and a music collection. The day wore on, like a thousand others before it, where nothing happened. Ten minutes before 5 pm, Karthik walked into the manager's office to announce his resignation. There was a surprise because he had offered no warning signs. He was as reliable as the furniture, a blind spot meant to stay until retirement before fading away with an engraved watch and a framed certificate of appreciation. He gave no reasons and politely refused to reconsider. A notice period of a month would have to be served, and he acquiesced, smiling half-heartedly as he walked out. None of the sights or sounds on the ride home registered as he thought about the rest of his evening. It had been three months since his mother passed, snatched away along with millions of others by a virus that had laughed in the faces of those it left behind. Their corner of the world had always been joyless, but the gloom seemed to deepen after her absence. He lay awake on most nights in the weeks that followed, staring at the ceiling as shadows cast by passing cars flitted across the paint. Where there should have been loneliness or a hint of abandonment, there was only emptiness, like a stomach grown accustomed to the lack of food. The only bright thing lay in his cupboard, waiting to be set free. Unlocking the door, Karthik stepped inside and began undoing his shirt. He thought about rumours from the 1980s of Elvis being alive and appearing at fast-food restaurants across America. The sightings had died down in the years since. There had never been a resurrection reported from Asia. Stepping out of his trousers, he placed them on the back of a chair and waited as his eyes adjusted to the dark room. He then walked in his socks and underwear, his upper lip curling slowly upwards. 'Wise men say,' he hummed, 'only fools rush in …' Opening the cupboard, he reached for the outfit and removed its covering sheet. The shirt and trousers were white, with gold sequins stitched onto every inch. They didn't shine as brightly as he remembered them but still twinkled in the reflected streetlight, distracting him into silence. Shutting the steel door, he put them on slowly and stood before the mirror, squinting as he tied the cape. The dark glasses would go on later, with mascara and whitening cream purchased a week ago. Turning to his stereo system that stood in a corner, Karthik reached for a cassette from the top of a pile. He knew what it was from where it had been placed the night before. Sliding it in, he pressed play and turned up the volume before walking back to the mirror. Outside, the late evening had begun its slow shuffle into another restless night, the streets thinning out and emptying like water from a cracked plastic bottle as neighbours and stragglers walked home. Karthik closed his eyes and shut it all out, creating a bubble of silence in which he alone lay cocooned. He imagined thousands of lights going down and a spotlight waiting for him at the centre of his room. Stepping into it lightly, he threw up one hand. He could die. But Elvis would live.
CBC
28-04-2025
- Health
- CBC
How Elvis got teens vaccinated against polio
Back in the 1950's, the polio epidemic spread across the world. Scientists hoped a vaccine would eliminate the dreaded disease. In 1954, the New York City Health Department launched a massive publicity campaign to promote polio vaccinations. The vaccination had been developed by Jonas Salk. Over 900,000 New Yorkers got vaccinated, and the number of new polio cases in the city fell to almost zero. But then something happened. Columnist and media personality Walter Winchell threw cold water on the initiative, saying the vaccine might, in fact, cause deaths. His influence stoked fear among teenagers – who were at the highest risk of contracting polio – so they stopped getting vaccinated. Immunization levels among teens dropped to an abysmal 0.6 percent, and polio was paralyzing an average of 35,000 kids annually. The medical community needed a way to reach those teenagers. So they turned to someone who had incredible sway over that demographic. Elvis Presley's career had skyrocketed after his historic appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show. In 1956, "Heartbreak Hotel" had reached #1 on the charts, and Love Me Tender, his debut film, would be released that November. So on September 9, 1956, before the Ed Sullivan Show started, Presley smiled, rolled up his sleeves in front of the press, and Sullivan himself, and let a doctor and nurse give him a polio shot in his arm. Elvis publicized the moment by sending photos of his inoculation out across the nation. Teens all across Canada and the United States followed in Elvis's footsteps and got the polio shot. As a matter of fact, vaccination rates among youth soared to 80 percent just six months later. That was Elvis's superpower. He was admired by the hardest-to-reach population – teenagers. Seeing him get vaccinated was far more powerful than any statistic, political speech, or sombre commercial. In many ways, that photo of Elvis was one of the most effective public service messages of all time.
