‘Tell Her I Love Her’ Review: A Heartfelt if Unwieldy Exploration of the Legacies of Two Lost Mothers

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In Romane Bohringer’s film “Tell Her I Love Her,” both the advantages and challenges of a mixed format are clearly seen. This French actress-turned-director has crafted an emotional narrative based on her own struggle to cope with her mother’s abandonment, mirroring the experiences of Clémentine Autain, a politician, activist, and author. Although her investigation may be more ambitious than meticulous, it leads her to creatively blend meta-fiction, auto-fiction, and docu-fiction. This haphazard method surprisingly gains speed and emotional depth as it progresses. Ultimately, through seemingly specialized personal histories, Bohringer uncovers truths about mothers and daughters, memories and misconceptions that resonate far beyond specific contexts. We may never fully grasp a beloved figure from our distant past. Yet, the act of remembering could potentially provide us with a deeper understanding of ourselves.

The film opens with a rough mix of news clips, personal videos, and a unique narration, which serves as a structure using TV broadcasts. Initially, it appears to have an unstable beginning, but eventually, it reveals a complex, recursive narrative. Actress Nina Hoss, who starred in the film, was deeply moved by the book written by Autain, a raw exploration of Autain’s tumultuous relationship with her mother, actress Dominique Laffin, who passed away when Autain was a teenager. This resonated deeply with Hoss, as her own mother, Marguerite Bourry, abandoned her during infancy and died young, at the age of 14 for Hoss. Both mothers struggled with addiction, moved in bohemian artistic circles, and seemed to grapple with the norms of traditional motherhood. As adults, their daughters recognize that their lingering grief and pain have significantly influenced their lives, perhaps reaching a peak as their own children reached the age they were when their mothers passed away.

In this production, Bohringer manages to persuade Autain not only to share her book for their movie adaptation and perform herself, but also to portray herself on screen. This choice works well as Autain’s calm and collected demeanor during the reading of her manuscript offers a striking contrast to Bohringer’s more expressive scenes. However, it remains unclear why Bohringer decides to include the unsuccessful auditions of actresses like Elsa Zylberstein, Julie Depardieu, and Celine Sallette for the role, unless it’s just to add a touch of intrigue about the production process. Yet, when we are already following the lives of two modern women and piecing together their mothers’ stories through dramatic flashbacks (with Eva Yelmani shining as the complex and captivating Laffin), adding a making-of segment within the film feels awkward at best.

The movie, “Tell Her That I Love Her,” features additional elements that complement its main themes. For instance, Bohringer’s teenage son dons a 1940s noir detective costume and adds humor with some family-related detective work. Additionally, the film incorporates Bohringer’s therapy sessions with a psychologist (Josiane Stoléru), which clearly demonstrate the project’s therapeutic focus. Despite the movie’s intention to expose and reveal, it frequently obscures and hides instead. However, this concealment might serve a purpose in shedding light on deeper issues. As Romane discusses the project with her father, Richard (a renowned actor), he tells her, “You are like a child playing hide-and-seek, not knowing what you dread or desire most: to remain hidden or to be found.

Borhinger’s innovative and diverse storytelling method is quite refreshing, yet the film’s most significant impact lies in specific themes rather than the collisions between them. Yelmani’s outstanding performance in the dramatic reenactments of Autain’s memories of her mother truly shines, while Bertrand Mouly’s grainy, soft, and saturated cinematography adds a warmth that makes these scenes feel like cherished memories. There’s an argument to be made for Laffin’s story being told as pure fiction. However, the poignant documentary discoveries about Bourry’s turbulent past would also deserve their own, less distracting narration. On the other hand, maybe the true power of “Tell Her I Love Her,” with its complex yet quiet narrative, lies not in its exploration of absent or unpredictable motherhood but in its portrayal of enduring and inevitable daughterhood. This approach offers a more profoundly insightful experience than one might expect from such an intimate premise because every woman can potentially become a mother, but every woman is always a daughter.

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2025-06-06 05:46