Is Léa Sey­doux Mia Hansen-Løve’s great­est on-screen muse?

If you buy the the­o­ry that all nar­ra­tive cin­e­ma con­tains at least some bio­graph­i­cal ele­ments con­nect­ed to its cre­ator, then the cast­ing of the lead char­ac­ter would seem to be a vital­ly impor­tant cre­ative deci­sion. It’s one that French film­mak­er Mia Hansen-Løve clear­ly does not take light­ly, as she has through the years exer­cised a unique sen­si­tiv­i­ty when it comes to select­ing actors whose job it is to not just rep­re­sent, but to enhance the feel­ings she felt and the things she saw, way back when.

Biog­ra­phy doesn’t nec­es­sar­i­ly mean that Hansen-Løve tells sto­ries explic­it­ly about her­self, as she is some­one who has chan­nelled her sub­jec­tive eye through the expe­ri­ences of par­ents (2016’s Things to Come), sib­lings (2014’s Eden) and pro­fes­sion­al asso­ciates (2009’s Father of My Chil­dren). Yet her career as a writer-direc­tor has been pock­marked by sto­ries which appear to fea­ture a direct avatar and which deal with naked­ly per­son­al sto­ries such as the birth and death of her first bur­geon­ing romance (2011’s Good­bye, First Love), the poet­ic and eth­i­cal impuls­es that come from mak­ing films con­cern­ing lived expe­ri­ence (2020’s Bergman Island), and now, a lilt­ing chron­i­cle of a rekin­dled love affair and an ail­ing father (2022’s One Fine Morn­ing).

In One Fine Morn­ing, which opens in UK cin­e­mas on 17 April, the osten­si­ble ​“Mia Hansen-Løve” char­ac­ter is played by a crop-haired and sad-eyed Léa Sey­doux, who in the film acts as dra­mat­ic go-between for two entire­ly sep­a­rate but emo­tion­al­ly dev­as­tat­ing events. The sub­tly rad­i­cal film pro­pos­es that we only know some­one to the extent that they’re will­ing to open them­selves up to us, and in this instance, Seydoux’s San­dra is attempt­ing to par­ti­tion the hap­pi­ness she is accru­ing from a romance with an old flame (Melville Poupard) from the immense sad­ness that comes from wit­ness­ing the phys­i­cal and men­tal dete­ri­o­ra­tion of her phi­los­o­phy pro­fes­sor father (Pas­cal Greg­gory). In a sense there are mul­ti­ple ver­sions of San­dra, and each one con­tains its own ele­ment of per­for­mance and benign obfuscation.

In terms of Seydoux’s pres­ence, the film offers some­thing a lit­tle dif­fer­ent for an actor who is known for play­ing parts that take advan­tage of her stern sense of con­fi­dence, her coquet­tish allure and her plucky resolve when it comes to mat­ters of the heart. Only recent­ly was she seen as an ultra-con­fi­dent French news anchor in Bruno Dumont’s France, or as the las­civ­i­ous (but string-pulling) maid­en to a lit­er­ary sage in Arnaud Desplechin’s Decep­tion. One Fine Morn­ing presents some­thing new, a fragili­ty that comes from a loss of con­trol, and a con­fu­sion born from want­i­ng to forge the best life for her­self and those around her.

One par­tic­u­lar­ly strik­ing ele­ment in One Fine Morn­ing – and one that Seydoux’s fine­ly tex­tured per­for­mance nudges to the fore – is how she depicts those moments that sud­den­ly tip us over the edge of rea­son, where we can no longer hold back the tears. Yet here, the tears are trig­gered by more innocu­ous moments, often in pri­vate, which allow San­dra to keep up the façade of courage and strong head­ed­ness. She watch­es on with stud­ied poise as her father is fer­ried into a wheel­chair and trans­port­ed to a hos­pi­tal – pos­si­bly exit­ing his beloved, book-filled flat for the last time. Yet she bursts into tears when the real­i­sa­tion hits her belat­ed­ly, while she’s off in his bed­room pack­ing his case.

By the same ratio­nale, Sandra’s sense of joy is nev­er pure and unal­loyed, always dashed with doubt and the feel­ing that her actions and her sit­u­a­tion might dri­ve her new boyfriend away. San­dra trans­forms her tiny Parisian flat into a loven­est after pack­ing her young daugh­ter away on sum­mer camp. Yet this out­let for her dor­mant pas­sions comes with the crip­pling sense that, once she lets him go out­side, he’ll be lost for­ev­er and the dream will be over. She begrudg­ing­ly wan­ders around the Orangerie Muse­um to see Monet’s Water Lilies, but the ulti­mate tran­quil­li­ty and escape offered by the giant can­vas­es is lost on her. Sey­doux is can­ny enough not to just look bored, but instead presents a feel­ing of neu­tral­i­ty that cuts even deep­er to the heart of her situation. 

One Fine Morn­ing is, in many ways, a clas­si­cal weepie of the type Dou­glas Sirk used to make in Hol­ly­wood dur­ing the 1950: a sto­ry of a strong woman try­ing her best to stand tall under the crush­ing weight of pro­fes­sion­al, per­son­al and roman­tic oblig­a­tion. And like Sirk, Hansen-Løve (and Sey­doux) do not pan­der towards cheap sen­ti­men­tal­ism and bald-faced histri­on­ics. Instead, it is a cel­e­bra­tion of eter­nal resolve and an acknowl­edge­ment of the fact that no trau­ma in life is an island in and of itself. 

One Fine Morn­ing is released in UK and Irish cin­e­mas now, and streams exclu­sive­ly on MUBI from June 16. Find screen­ings and book tick­ets here: mubi​.com/​o​n​e​f​i​n​e​m​o​rning‘