
2021 · Audrey Diwan 🦁
For when you want to be gripped by something that matters — a challenge, not a comfort watch, and all the more powerful for it. Save it for a night when you can sit with it afterward.
France, 1963, when abortion is illegal and unmentionable. Anne is a bright working-class literature student with exams approaching and a real future in sight — until she discovers she's pregnant, and watches that future start to close, week by week. With shame, judgment, and prison all in play, she resolves to end the pregnancy by whatever means she can find.
It plays like a thriller with a body instead of a bomb — the clock of the pregnancy ticks through chapter titles, and the tension becomes almost physical. Unflinching in a few key moments, it's gripping rather than grim, but it will leave you shaken.
Anamaria Vartolomei carries nearly every frame as Anne, playing desperation with a hard, determined intelligence — you watch her think her way through an impossible situation rather than simply suffer it.
Audrey Diwan strips the period film of period comfort: no vintage gloss, no editorializing score, just a boxy near-square frame that walls Anne in while the world around her blurs into rumor and closed doors. The camera stays punishingly close, and chapter titles count the weeks like a clock nobody can stop. Its intensity lands even on a small screen, but the tight framing is immersive in a theater.
Adapted from Annie Ernaux's memoir, it won the Golden Lion at Venice in 2021 — a year before Ernaux won the Nobel — and arrived with uncanny timing as abortion rights returned to the center of public argument.
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Audrey Diwan's adaptation of Annie Ernaux's memoir of a clandestine abortion in pre-legalization France won the Golden Lion at Venice in 2021 — a year before Ernaux herself took the Nobel. Diwan strips the period film of period comfort: no vintage postcard gloss, no editorializing score, just Anamaria Vartolomei's Anne, a working-class literature student whose whole future narrows week by week. The camera stays punishingly close, in a boxy near-square frame that walls her in, the background dissolving so the world becomes rumor, judgment, and closed doors. Chapter titles count the weeks like a clock nobody can stop. What makes the film extraordinary is its refusal of both melodrama and discretion — Diwan films the body's ordeal with a directness that had festival audiences flinching, yet the tone is closer to a thriller than a tract, urgency compounding scene by scene. It arrived, uncannily, just before Roe fell, and screened with a charge few period dramas ever carry. But its real subject is older and larger: intelligence itself as the thing at stake, a mind fighting for the right to its own life.
Lines of influence