“A breath of fresh air in how it introduces questions of gender politics into the bourgeois romantic dramedy genre without condescending towards modern viewpoints, while questioning the benignly toxic culture of the early 2000s.”

Léo (Melvil Poupaud) is at a crossroads in his life: he’s on the verge of turning 50, his once-promising writing career has led to a stagnant teaching assistant job in eastern France, his long-term relationship is dying a slow death, and he must go to Italy to sort out the will of his recently deceased father whom he never knew. Finding himself back in Paris in the days before his departure, he reconnects with his activist daughter and old friends from his magazine publishing days. Inspired by these encounters to reexamine the chauvinistic attitude and sexual politics that dominated cultural scenes in the decade before MeToo, Léo is forced to question his own place in today’s society and his attitude towards women, past and present.

From a premise that could be reactionary or didactic in other hands, Nicolas Pariser has made a sardonic, charming dramedy with Un peu avant minuit (One Minute to Midnight), marking his Venice competition debut. The film plays within the well-worn confines of the Parisian bourgeois romantic dramedy, but Pariser is both affectionate and gently mocking of this particular cinematic subgenre, giving it a modern twist even as many of the archetypes and verbose discussions about love and relationships are familiar. Pariser makes the unusual choice of situating Léo’s emotional awakening within an increasingly tense political climate (martial law is declared, and riot police, police vans, and ambulances are a constant presence), giving the film an unsettling undercurrent while also emphasizing how insignificant Léo’s existential crisis is in the face of mass social unrest. This uneasy blending of tones is exemplified by Benjamin Esdraffo’s score, which nimbly switches from typical romantic piano and strings to a more modern thriller sound.

What is most successful about Un peu avant minuit is Pariser’s ability to present a variety of viewpoints—some in agreement and some in conflict—that illustrate the many ways that the gender and generational differences play into perceptions of romantic relationships. Léo spends time with several women who force him to reckon with his past: his 19-year-old daughter Emma (Clara Pacini) considers love stories a tool through which men imprison women via an idealized image conforming to masculine desires; Eléonore (Léonie Simaga), the wife of an old friend, bluntly forces Léo to recognize the inequalities that were the foundation of the flings that he and his literary buddies had with barely legal female interns and writers; and Armelle (Anaïs Demoustier), a former intern who is now a prominent Socialist politician, lays bare the problematic nature of their past relationship while also illustrating the mental toll that revisiting the past can take on women. Throughout, we observe Léo’s self-awakening and even feel pangs of sympathy for him, but former colleague Tina (Golshifteh Farahani) dryly rebuffs his attempt at reconciliation and reminds both him and the viewer of a stark truth: it isn’t a woman’s job to solve the problem of masculine self-pity and give absolution for past transgressions. In this moment Pariser slyly reframes the emotional journey that Léo has been on, emphasizing how he has allowed the women in his life to bear the burden of his self-examination rather than putting in the work himself.

Befitting the extended social circle that Léo reenters, the film boasts a strong ensemble cast. Melvil Poupaud, cast somewhat against his reputation for moody auteur films, brings an unexpected charm to Léo while also not being afraid to emphasize how pathetic he can be. Clara Pacini and Léonie Simaga are the highlights of the supporting cast, bringing a much-needed acerbic energy to the film; Simaga in particular is a delightfully tart presence whenever she is on-screen, even as the conclusion of her arc is eye-rolling. And in the final minutes Chiara Mastroianni is the film’s lovely, melancholy grace note as Léo’s Italian half-sister Giulia, although the shift to Léo’s family history doesn’t totally gel with the rest of the film even as a final voice-over bookends the father-daughter discussion at the beginning.

While not reinventing the wheel of French romantic dramedies, Un peu avant minuit is a breath of fresh air in how it introduces questions of gender politics into the bourgeois romantic dramedy genre without condescending towards modern viewpoints, while questioning the benignly toxic culture of the early 2000s. The film straddles the line between old-fashioned and new, not always successfully but with admirable sincerity.