“A film that oozes genuineness when it comes to what it means to be expecting.”

Céline (Ella Rumpf) and her wife Nadia (Monia Chokri) are having a baby. Normally this would be a blissful moment, but it is causing Céline a lot of stress. Since Nadia is carrying the child to term, Kafkaesque French laws stipulate that Céline, even though she is married to the expectant mother, will have to adopt their newborn, requiring her to submit proof that she will be a good mother through testimonies from friends and family. That means talking about the care of young children with friends, it means babysitting and dealing with pooping babies, but most of all it means talking to her mother (Noémie Lvovsky), a celebrated pianist who in Céline’s own childhood gave priority to her career over her daughter’s upbringing, and still isn’t the kind of mother who is there for her child when she needs her. The stress starts to take its toll on Céline and Nadia’s relationship, with resentment from both sides over the choice made about who would get pregnant and the effects that decision has had over both their individual lives and careers; can Céline muster enough support to be a full member of the family unit to come?

Oddly enough Alice Douard’s sophomore feature Des preuves d’amour (‘proof of love’, which would have been a better English title than Love Letters) never really answers this question. Perhaps the joy of both parents in the birth scene that ends the film is proof enough. Or perhaps the letter that Céline’s mother has written in support of her daughter, read out in voice over by Lvovsky during a piano recital with both parents-to-be in attendance, can be seen as such strong evidence of Céline’s readiness to be a mother that authorities would not be able to refuse. One could argue that this robs the film of a sense of closure, but on the other hand perhaps the closure it provides is that French laws are stupid and that true love doesn’t have to be proven. Leaving this open is an interesting cap on a film that oozes genuineness when it comes to what it means to be expecting, and the added complications that same-sex couples have to face.

Douard, who co-penned the screenplay with Laurette Polmanss, steadfastly steers the film through 90 minutes of diapers, doubt, and drama, with a healthy dose of laugh-out-loud moments sprinkled in (Emy Juretzko as the young daughter of Céline’s friends is a scene stealer in this regard) to keep a touch of lightness. With better and more inventive camera work than is to be expected in a small family drama (thankfully the ubiquitous social-realist shaky cam is absent) and really tight and impactful editing, Des preuves d’amour breezes by but still makes its points effectively without having to resort to plot contrivances or overly melodramatic acting. Rumpf and Chokri have great chemistry as a couple, and Douard isn’t afraid to give them a sex scene despite Chokri being heavily pregnant, more proof that the film intends to show the process of going through a pregnancy as a couple, warts and all. Lvovsky’s warm personality in the meantime never lets her Marguerite slide into a shrill, one-dimensional mother, her aloof character written richly enough for the actress to play both sides of the coin.

The writing in particular, aside from an ill-conceived bar fight, strives to get to the heart of the issues faced by couples in this situation: the doubt and fear that you’ll not figure it out, the regret about leaving your old life behind. With two prospective mothers there is the added complexity of what ‘mother’ means and when either becomes one. In perhaps the film’s most brutally honest moment Céline reproaches Nadia during an argument with a cutting “She’s already your daughter,” while she has to wait for the courts to decide that she can wear the title too. Des preuves d’amour is full of such heartfelt lines, making the film all the more honest and realistic; having a baby isn’t all rainbows and butterflies. Also, the relationship between Céline and her mother is well rendered in their differences and their similarities, with Douard mixing in some subtle details: Céline is a sound technician, and a scene of her doing a soundcheck around a concert hall is later mirrored by Marguerite doing the same before her recital. It is these little details that add texture to the story and prevent it from becoming a string of plot moments. All these factors contribute to Douard having crafted a fully rounded comedy-drama about what it means to become a parent in a way that is at once universal and specific to lesbian couples.