Throughout Love Me Tender, French director Anna Cazenave Cambet’s new film about a mother’s fight for custody of her child, the audience is reminded of the body at the centre of the story – that of Clémence Delcourt (Vicky Krieps). The camera is almost cloyingly close, presenting her body in lingering shots that offer opportunities for the audience to connect with her real, visceral experience.
It is this body that we follow through the story. From the opening shot of Clémence in the pool to the ending on a bike, hers is a body constantly in motion, with a kind of restless energy. It is no wonder that she feels the need to keep moving: Clémence separates from her husband, and leaves him and her son after realising she is attracted to women.
Clémence tells her ex-husband she has started dating women, and he responds that her son no longer wants to see her. The film follows Clémence’s battle for access to her son and the heartbreak it causes. It’s an adaptation of the autofictional novel, Love Me Tender (2020) by Constance Debré.
At the heart of this film is a tension between being yourself and the demands of society, whether that be the roles of mother or the homophobia still present. Clémence is painted by her ex-husband and her son’s school as “ill” and “violent” and her sexuality is linked with incest and paedophilia. This is nothing new in terms of queer experience. By highlighting these attitudes – and the emotional pain they cause – the film suggests that they should be challenged. At the same time, however, the way the film is shot and paced seems to uphold ideas and stereotypes of queer representation in film.
Clémence is often isolated, both literally and figuratively. We follow her swimming and writing, and when she is with others, she often appears disconnected from the group in some way. She is “othered” throughout the film. This perhaps reflects her isolation, but it also singles her out as different.
A misdirect in the opening of the film also establishes the tone: we see the physical experience of queerness and queer sex as she meets and has an encounter with a woman at the swimming pool. Shortly after, we see Clémence outside, video-calling her son with his father. At this point, there is no clarity about what is happening. Viewers may assume she is being unfaithful, and therefore a protagonist who we are not supposed to morally align with. Even so, the performance from Krieps is striking; I found myself drawn into her emotional world and the sense of solitude that pervades the film.
When Clémence does have sexual encounters with other women, they are often low-lit and tightly shot, creating a feeling of something hidden. While it may be a way to simulate intimacy, it also suggests that queer experience is something to be hidden or something shameful.
The distinction between these scenes and the scenes with Clémence’s estranged son are striking. He appears to be the opening up of her world, and the viewer is left with uncertainty as to what is exactly is happening. We are never shown the father’s argument for why he has been coercing his son into not seeing his mother other than assumed homophobia.
Clémence is shown as promiscuous, unstable, constantly moving between housing and partners, and unable to connect to others. While this may reflect some queer experiences, it’s a frustratingly persistent trope in films. It does, however, raise the question of whether art should reflect real life or offer something else. Should queer viewers see themselves and their struggles reflected or look for hope?
Despite Love Me Tender being an adaptation, there would have been ways to film this that didn’t retread old ground in queer imagery. Given that it is a film about a woman trying to do things her own way, to push against expectations, the visuals do not seem to agree. They were, as the film is, impressive, engaging and compelling, but overall, Love Me Tender left me feeling a mix of emotions. What the viewer is left with is a sense of sadness, anger at the unjust situation, and a recognition that queer experience continues to be difficult for many.
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