Following a sweetly feckless twentysomething jolted into adulthood when tragedy appoints him the guardian of his seven-year-old niece, it tells a familiar story furrowed by quiet emotional conviction, much of it in Vincent Lacoste’s unhurried, unaffected turn. A nourishingly classical tear-jerker as well as a glowing valentine to Paris’s endurance in the age of modern terrorism, Mikhaël Hers’s third feature will count on warm festival word of mouth to boost its distribution prospects.
Vincent Lacoste has grown one of contemporary French cinema’s great faces: at once beautiful and wonky, shaped by mischief and worry, like a Belmondo reflected in the surface of a choppy lake.
In one remarkable scene, the weight of all comes crashing down unannounced on Lacoste’s bright, boyish face, as he dissolves into tears on a crowded train platform; one sharp cut later, he’s pulled himself together, carrying on with the day at hand. Paris, in turn, chugs on around him: Shot not over-touristically but in its literal best light by d.p. Sébastien Buchmann, the city is the pacemaker that keeps Amanda’s broken, hopeful heart on track.
Guy Lodge, Variety