We do not receive any sort of indication of the time or place in which A Radiant Girl is set until a surprising (and double-digit) number of minutes into Sandrine Kiberlain’s directorial debut. For those minutes, it only seems as if an acting troupe is practicing to put on a performance of Pierre de Marivaux’ L’Epreuve, and considering they speak in the language of the playwright and novelist, obviously this is taking place in France. It is jarring, then, to discover minutes later that the year is 1942, these actors are all Jewish, and the encroachment of the Nazi occupation of France is wrapping itself tighter and tighter around those who never expect themselves or their friends to be whisked away in silence, never to be seen again.
At one point for Irene (Rebecca Marder), it’s merely a matter of slight annoyance that the soldiers took away her radio. Such small losses of privilege and power are scattered throughout Kiberlain’s screenplay, which does a notable job of operating quite well as a charming coming-of-age comedy about Irene’s wide-eyed journey through a particular part of her youth and as a reminder of what could be and, on a mass scale, was stolen away from millions of young people just like Irene less than ten decades ago. Make no mistake that this is primarily an exhibition of the former trait, though, as communicated through Marder’s intensely likable performance as a young woman whose positivity and goodness radiate through any surrounding situation or mood.
Irene lives with her father André (André Marcon), her grandmother Marceline (a warm and welcome Françoise Widhoff), and her brother Igor (Anthony Bajon, a relative newcomer to U.S. audience members, in a star-making turn), each of whom attempts, in his or her own way, to shield Irene’s ethnic and religious identity from Nazi officials. That way, the girl can remain focused on the wistfulness of her dream to become an actor on stage and screen. When she develops a series of mysterious fainting spells, she sees a doctor about them and falls head over heels for his assistant Jacques (Cyril Metzger).
For a while, there isn’t much in the way of a traditional “plot” here, as we follow Irene through a maze of adolescent longing, with the existential threat of the world outside her always looming – a dark shadow over so much goodness and light. It’s in how her scene partner, the romantic interest in her play, disappears in the middle of rehearsals, and in how so many others seem to meet the same fate. Playfulness is thankfully not absent from the proceedings here, and Kiberlain proves adept at a certain management of tone.
Finally, though, the film’s considerable cumulative power, with its creeping dread in the background and attention paid to that outside world, is no match for the horrifying, panic-inducing dread of the very final moments. Without revealing anything specific, it leaves us with a terrible uncertainty, because of what it doesn’t show, and an equally terrible certainty, because there really is only one option for what follows. A Radiant Girl finally reminds us why it is set during this year and in this place.
Photo courtesy of Film Movement
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