“An absolute delight in both style and substance.”

Something that we all gradually learn as we grow older and enter maturity is that history was far less neat and tidy than the sanitised version we remember from school textbooks. Whether to make the past seem more palatable, or to conceal some of the supposedly questionable aspects of how people used to live, there are many reasons that it is reduced to something far less genuine. This makes the occasional appearance of off-the-wall artworks that try to unearth a seemingly authentic depiction of the past all the more interesting, since they offer insights that add to our existing knowledge, if not outright contradicting it. A terrific version of this principle can be seen in Peau d’homme, in which Léa Domenach (steadily growing into a truly captivating comedic filmmaker) adapts the graphic novel by Hubert Boulard and Zanzim. It transports us back to the 15^th century, venturing into the fictional kingdom of Florez and introducing us to Blanche, the daughter of the king, who is set to be wed to Melchior, the son of a wealthy nobleman, in an arranged marriage. However, she realises that she barely knows her future husband, and in an effort to actually determine whether they would be a good match, Blanche is given the peau d’homme (a man’s skin), allowing her to disguise herself as the male Léonard, in the hopes of learning more about Melchior. There are several complications when she realises that he has desires that don’t quite match the standards of the time. Not at all historically accurate, but rather a film built around an unapologetically queer glimpse into the past (which is certainly not common in the lessons we learn in school), Peau d’homme is an absolute delight in both style and substance, even at its most intentionally trivial.

Over time, there has been a growing movement towards the appreciation of revisionism as a legitimate form of storytelling – it may not always be accurate (in many cases, its contradiction of reality can be an intentional feature), but it’s often very entertaining, especially when there are intriguing intentions behind the approach to a particular topic. In the case of Peau d’homme, the film presents itself as an adaptation of a classical folktale (in reality the graphic novel was published in 2020) that throws us back to the year 1484. This is intentionally designed to take place during the Renaissance, a time of great intellectual enlightenment, which does factor into the film in interesting ways. Very quickly we see the purpose behind this story, which is to infuse what appears to be a traditional concept with layers of undeniable queerness. In the opening act the film circles around the subject, teasing the viewer by forcing us to guess whether it is actually going to lean into queer undertones, or if it is merely our own modern reading of a simple concept. Once the initial revelation is made, the film spirals into an offbeat, hilariously strange subversion of classical tropes in which its intentions are laid bare. It is not the only film that presents an attempt to sabotage the status quo by introducing subjects such as gender and sexuality (which were not even that unrealistic – writers who predated William Shakespeare such as Geoffrey Chaucer and Ludovico Ariosto used these subjects as the foundation for stories of mistaken identity). The only difference here is the treatment of sexual identity as a characteristic rather than the product of mere confusion. It’s a welcome approach, and the ability to dismantle certain views without becoming overly self-serious is part of the undeniable appeal of the film.

Viewing the past from a modern perspective can sometimes be tricky, since it’s not always easy (or frankly wise) to filter it through a contemporary lens; society has changed and it can occasionally feel tacky. Therefore, it takes a skilled director to make something that feels both modern and classical in equal measure, and Domenach is certainly up to the task of finding that balance through adapting this irreverent graphic novel into something equally captivating. Aesthetically, Peau d’homme is a delight, as there’s an abundance of effort put into transporting us to the past. It may be far more colourful and ornate than the reality, but this is all part of the director’s plan to evoke those classical fairytales from our collective childhood, as inaccurate as they may have been in representing the past. There’s a vibrancy that keeps this film consistently entertaining, with the production design and costuming creating a very specific image of the past that may be anachronistic, but in a way that feels intentional, especially because the film’s setting in a fictional country gives Domenach a bit more flexibility in terms of these details. If nothing else, Peau d’homme allows us to see some terrific actors parading around in increasingly ridiculous costumes, which is certainly delightful in its own way. The anchor of the film is Claire Pommet (who some may know from her musical moniker Pomme), a magnetic presence on screen playing the part of Blanche with a steadfast conviction and deep wit that leads me to believe she’s got a tremendous future in the industry, especially in how she manages to bring so much gravitas to an otherwise very silly premise. She’s joined by a fantastic supporting cast, which includes Karin Viard at her most eccentric as Blanche’s persnickety mother, and a reunion between the director and the legendary Catherine Deneuve (who played Madame Chirac in Domenach’s previous film, the under-appreciated Bernadette), as the protagonist’s mischievous, gender-bending mentor. Every actor in this film is having an absolute blast, and it shows in their committed, wonderfully eccentric performances.

Peau d’homme exists in a version of the past where everything is slightly off-kilter and undeniably joyful – even something as harrowing as treason and treachery is treated as nothing more than an opportunity for a song-and-dance number. Ultimately, it’s not a serious affair, but rather functions as a perfect dose of escapism, bringing some much-needed levity to the screen and being unquestionably entertaining even at its most predictable. It hits exactly the notes that we expect it to, and it may not say too much about the queerness at the heart of the story (the conclusion finds a different character getting their happy ending through embracing their queerness, rather than the protagonists), but none of this invalidates the wonderfully endearing qualities that keep this film afloat. The impeccable aesthetic does well in transporting us to the past, and the performances are tremendous – it’s always clear when cast and crew have fun making a film, since it is quite obvious on screen. As a whole, Peau d’homme isn’t much more than a plucky, well-meaning comedy that aims to be a subversive folktale about gender roles, sexuality and the importance of community in consolidating one’s identity. While this may become secondary to what essentially stands as a straightforward farce built around mistaken identities and hilarious coincidences, there is still an abundance of meaning at the heart of the story, showing there’s virtue in even the most seemingly trivial of works. It is never weighed down by its eccentricities, instead finding the right balance between its different ideas, while also delivering exactly what it promises at the outset. This makes Peau d’homme a wholeheartedly delightful distraction that draws the viewer in and holds our attention through bright colours, solid writing and a genuine desire to entertain and provoke in the most charming way possible.