Fanny presents itself as a grounded piece of Quebec cinema, aiming for intimacy and emotional realism. Normally, that is exactly the type of film that resonates with me when it embraces vulnerability and human complexity. But here, the film feels too restrained, almost timid in the way it handles its own story.
There are interesting emotional threads, but they remain at the surface. The film observes more than it expresses, and not in a powerful quiet way like Short Term 12 or the emotional authenticity of a Sean Baker film. Instead it feels distant, like it is watching its characters from across the room without ever stepping closer. I kept expecting a turning point, a real emotional rupture that would justify its pacing, but that moment never arrives.
Visually, the film is serviceable but almost invisible. The cinematography does not create strong atmosphere or memorable images. It functions, but it never becomes expressive or bold. Nothing truly lingers after a scene ends.
I understand how some viewers might appreciate its calm and understated tone, and there is a sincerity to it that prevents it from being a bad film. But for me, it feels like a story that plays everything too safe. It is gentle, subtle, and easy to watch, but it never risks enough to leave a lasting impression.
