Time to Leave

Francois Ozon is one of my favourite French directors. His artistic renditions of the human drama contribute significantly to what makes French films so worth seeing. This is his second instalment of a trilogy about death that started with the emotionally enthralling, understated Under The Sand.

Previously he has covered different genres like comedy (8 Women) and thriller (Swimming Pool). While these films have found a wider audience, I find the dramatically subdued exploration of grief and mortality in Under The Sand and A Time To Leave much more interesting and satisfying.

In A Time To Leave, Romain finds his own way to deal with imminent death. Unlike most of his previous films, Ozon uses a male protagonist. He appears to be selfish and egocentric – not overly likable. Perhaps like an essay on the human condition, it is revealing to observe how he interacts with people and attempts closure on his 'final journey'.

The film has a bit of a wandering Zen feel about it. There is no sentimentality and Romain does not burden anyone. It appears that he wants to tidy up loose ends before his passing in an attempt to find peace within himself.

Legendary actress Jeanne Moreau, playing the grandmother, has as strong a screen presence as ever (55 years after her debut). It is only with her that Romain seems to open up emotionally, and we get a glimpse of his warmer side. These scenes were very moving and felt like the emotional core of the film.

Like Under The Sand, A Time To Leave doesn't seem to be making any particular point. Neither are evangelical or proselytising a world view. Nor are they gratuitous, contrived or flamboyant. Each of them is like another essay about the human condition, done with great artistry. There are no grand sweeping statements – just one person's story. There is such understated confidence, intelligence and skill in Ozon's direction. Highly recommended.

Time to Leave (2005)

Besides being interminably sad, even when it has shreds of love and hope and genuine friendship built in, Time to Leave is also a tonic and a balm. It makes the worst of situations reasonable. Not good, not desirable, but imaginable, which is something, too. It's an absorbing movie at its best, but is often slow and a hair predictable, within the range of themes in films of our era.

As a movie, beyond the subject (which is what it is), there is a feeling of the ordinary even as the characters are often a bit beyond even extraordinary. The welcome spectre of Jeanne Moreau as his grandmother is great, and yet their relationship is tender to the point of incestuous. Maybe. And his love for his father, very touching, also trembles a little on the edge of beautiful liberalism. What I mean is, for all its touching, realistic touches, there are many moments that cut across the veneer that we are to believe. And it loses it's candid believability, leaning into an idealized sheen, without ever leaving it totally, into a fairy tale of some kind.

So I didn't quite settle into the whole experience very well, and watched with impatience by halfway through. Maybe his lack of denouement is ours, as well, but that reminds me of art school when people with bad art would say something along the lines of, "I wanted it that way." Director Francois Ozon may have wanted this steady trauma and despair laced with love and deflated by the banal, but he could have also wanted something that left us viewers more fully moved, entranced, enlightened, or even, alas, puzzled. I was touched, in the end, by my own feelings and fear of dying, and of being surprised by its coming too soon, and the movie did less to illuminate that as to simple serve as a reminder about it, leaving the work, and the awfulness, up to me.

Funny enough, I didn't expect this film to be such a great moment of cinema. I had read a couple of reviews, and most of them were rather lukewarm. I experienced this film like a soft punch in the face and the stomach, and I felt a kind of empathy with most of the characters (except maybe with the sister), because they all represent a problem in modern life. And the actors were so good at their job, without forcing it, that I didn't even think 'Oh wait, but it's Jeanne Moreau playing the part of...", etc. And there's even some humor: sometimes I laughed, and not because I felt ill at ease, but just because it was plainly funny. But it's not a comedy. It's a reflection about love, life and death. How those three can be simple, beautiful, and painful. A beautiful parable on life without any screaming, violence, shooting (like in 'Crash', for instance, which was also a beautiful film in its own way). Go and see it! It might change the way you look at life. If only for an hour or two...

Dying? Why? How? Do I have the chance to look at my own demise from where I'm standing and I'm given the chance, even if brief, to do what I can to arrive to the fatal randez-vous without a heavy heart. Is that possible? We live the question in painful, stunning moments of reflection. Melvil Poupaud's face is not merely beautiful but transparent. I decided very early one that he/his character and I were diametrically opposites and yet, I felt the communion, I was with him I sort of understood. I wept for him and for me, I wept for everyone I've lost and for all the ones I'm going to loose before I go. I've also decided that I like François Ozon very much. That his movies take me places in a brutally gentle way and I come out of this experiences with something new. Thank you very much.

Ozon is a strange figure. Strange in a sense that actually makes him normal: sometimes controversial, sometimes authentic, but always a great analyst of the emotion's spectrum.

It becomes clear really early that the film will be more of a contemplative portrayal of death than a daring fight lead against it. And sometimes it's better that way, to take things as they come. Thirty one year old Romain isolates himself from his family and friends and deals with several stages of the whole "accepting death" experience. A so dreaded experience. Consequently, the film is distant and may seem tedious at times, but all the means serve their purpose.

"Le temps qui reste" (gorgeous title, I feel obliged to emphasize this) is a difficult film: homosexuality, solitude and death are themes which few can bear light-heartedly. Still, Romain's process of severing himself from himself is intriguing at all times and the film's final sequence is of a most sincere impact. It's about adapting to the idea of dying in a glacial modern society.

We are generally alone in this world and all we have is our family. And if we lose that, we are left with thoughts, never to be forgotten. Le temps qui reste.