Our review of Off-season: chabadabada by the sea

The bathrobe is not a man's friend. Does he put it on? He immediately appears apathetic, even unwell. Bad luck, Guillaume Canet wears it a lot in the off-season. The actor - he plays one in this film - arrives in a seaside resort on the west coast to have a spa. As soon as she enters, the receptionist asks her for a selfie. He submits nicely.

The scene is repeated with the hotel employees all the way to the treatment room where he is asked to pose while he is prepared for a seaweed wrap. He had come to recharge his batteries in the fresh, salty air. He's on the verge of depression. On the phone, his wife (Marie Drucker who we never see) only talks to him about his next roles, his career and tells him the idea that his working time is limited. Couldn't he relax a little?

The clarification takes the old-fashioned form of a letter left at reception. It comes from Alice, a woman with whom he lived fifteen years earlier. Alice lives in this small town and learned that the great actor was next door. She suggests seeing him again. The reunion takes place in a tea room. The waiter put on some background music.

What an idiot! The vision of Alba Rohrwacher, blond Florentine, stunning Italian accent, oscillating between reserve and laughter, is a symphony in itself. The actor comes back to life. Certainly, he hides his discomfort under smiles, does not tell her that he has just staged the long-awaited play but breaks the armor. They don't have to see each other again, they will see each other again.

Also read “My vocation as an actor appeared by accident”: Jack Lowden, the soul of the poet

Chabadabada, chabadabada… Surprising Stéphane Brizé who, after the bitter struggles of workers in companies, takes a hit on us like Claude Lelouch. A man, a woman and the tireless surf of the waves who will never have anything to do with the moods of two little walkers at Sempé. Off-season seals the reunion of former lovers. Life has passed, children have been born, wrinkles have deepened, memories have softened and regrets? From this threading of pearls, Brizé knits a melodrama of porcelain delicacy.

He films his actors giving the feeling of never having been there with his cameras. Alba Rohrwacher and Guillaume Canet inhabit their roles with an intensity that moves. These two revive together but cry alone. Hurry up. They talk to each other without saying the essential things to each other, as if there was no need to break this parenthesis. The interlude has the scent of a boat trip, a lunch with a sea view, an invitation to a wedding where we slow dance like we did at 17.

Alice hides her wounds under a polite smile, her old companion hides his with great derision. He’s pathetic, he knows it, but she has the art of making him forget it. Their paths cross again in this deserted seaside resort, to music by Vincent Delerm in unison with their feelings. At the end, there is the sea and no real escape. And now how do we do it? At the hotel, we will remember the stay of this friendly actor who left with his wheeled suitcase, like Mr. Everyman.

The Note of Figaro: 3/4