The French drama Let the Sunshine In is a pointless movie with a great, great performance from Juliette Binoche. Binoche plays a divorced artist who, yearning to be in a relationship with a guy, has sexual encounters with a range of them. She churns a series of men who are not good-relationship material for a variety of reasons. And she is aiming way too low. All of this is obvious.
Finally, she finds herself listening to counsel from a character played by Gérard Depardieu; I really lost track of whether the character is a therapist or some kind of guru, whatever. But in this scene, the movie’s final 10-15 minutes, we can appreciate the most exquisite acting of the year. Depardieu is doing 90% of the talking, but the camera is on Binoche as she listens and internalizes what is being said. I really couldn’t tell you whether his advice was sound or empty psychobabble. I was just too entranced by Binoche’s reactions.
This is the GOOD part of the movie, but there’s a problem here, too. Just when the audience is enraptured by Binoche’s face, the giant letters J-U-L-I-E-T-T-E-B-I-N-O-C-H-E run across it. It’s so distracting that my first thought was that the movie’s projection had become garbled. But no – it’s the CLOSING CREDITS scrolling across the most profound performance of the year. Unpardonable.
It should be noted that this story of a woman’s yearnings is told by the woman writer-director Claire Denis. I liked, but don’t otherwise remember much about her 2008 35 Shots of Rum; I was dismayed by her 2013 Bastards. Let the Sunshine In is another whiff.