‘Love Me Tender’ Review: Vicky Krieps Anchors a Hard-Hitting Chronicle of Motherhood and Sexual Freedom That Overstays Its Welcome

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Vicky Krieps, a rising star in art house cinema, is not only renowned worldwide as an actor hailing from the small European country of Luxembourg, but she also tends to avoid roles that are perceived as simple or unchallenging.

Following her captivating performance in “Phantom Thread,” where she played a model taking control from an abusive partner, she’s found herself attracted to complex characters teetering on the brink or enduring hardship. Over the past three years, she’s portrayed a woman battling a rare, debilitating illness (“More Than Ever”), a famous Austrian poet whose life was tragically ended early (“Ingeborg Bachmann — Journey into the Desert”), a silent U.S. border agent who committed murder and tried to cover it up (“The Wall”), and a frontier wife who experiences rape, contracted syphilis, and ultimately passed away (“The Dead Don’t Hurt”).

What’s captivating about Krieps is her ability to effortlessly immerse herself into complex roles without ever becoming complacent. She consistently delves deep to uncover emotion in challenging scenarios. Even when the films she appears in may not be particularly noteworthy, Krieps often leaves a lasting impression in every single one of them.

Indeed, that’s true for “Love Me Tender,” a gripping French drama, inspired by Constance Debré’s 2020 book, which delves into themes of motherhood and self-reliance. Directed by Anna Cazenave Cambet (known for “Gold for Dogs”), this Cannes Film Festival entry is both somber and emotionally stirring at times, portraying the various obstacles a woman encounters when her ex-husband seeks full custody of their son.

However, the initial intensity of the story seems to diminish in its latter part. Although it builds up to a thought-provoking end, it spends a considerable amount of time reaching that point (lasting 134 minutes), often losing its central focus. Luckily, Krieps delivers a consistent performance, embodying a mother struggling with the French judicial system, a vengeful ex-partner, and her personal quest for self-discovery in terms of both sexuality and intellect.

In a straightforward yet engaging manner:

Love Me Tender doesn’t mince words when it comes to the explicit sensuality of its protagonist, Clémence (Krieps), who is initially seen casually dating a woman in the changing room of a Parisian swimming pool. A narration, directly lifted from Debré’s “autofictional” novel, informs us that Clémence has been apart from her husband, Laurent (Antoine Reinartz), for three years now, and they have been sharing custody of their 8-year-old son, Paul (Viggo Ferreira-Redier). When she discloses to Laurent about her new romantic relationships with women, he reacts so negatively that he cuts off all contact and hires a lawyer in an attempt to gain sole custody. As the story unfolds, matters only grow more complex.

In the heart of this film, my journey to reunite with Paul is at the center, a pursuit that grows more surreal and labyrinthine as Laurent persistently thwarts me. Our encounters are rare but packed with palpable tension and simmering anger. Reinartz masterfully depicts Laurent as a man whose masculinity seems bruised by my embrace of lesbianism, using our son as a tool for retaliation. The movie never shows us what Laurent does in his free time, but it feels plausible that he spends those moments immersed in the world of the manosphere.

Despite numerous attempts by her ex to prevent it, Clémence eventually manages to meet Paul once more, under the watchful eye of a court-assigned social worker named Aurélia Petit. This encounter, happening approximately an hour into the movie, is undeniably its most emotional peak. During this extended scene, Krieps delicately portrays her character’s mix of tender affection and deep sorrow. Due to her overwhelming emotions upon seeing her son, she remains silent throughout the sequence.

Simultaneously, another narrative thread unfolds, showcasing Clemence’s tumultuous romantic journey as she searches for meaningful connections in bars, eateries, and nightspots. Cambet interweaves these sometimes steamy and intimate scenes with the struggles Clemence endures in her arduous attempt to win Paul back, creating a vivid contrast between her love life’s ups and downs.

As Clémence appears more and more independent from her past – experimenting with new sexual experiences, choosing literature over law, opting for garrets over lavish apartments – she finds herself increasingly bound by the life she once abandoned. Despite her affection for Paul and her desire to nurture him, Laurent’s vindictive nature, coupled with some lawyers and judges, seemingly cannot fathom that she can be both an exceptional mother and a free-thinking lesbian.

In the heat of my gaming world, I sometimes find myself mirroring the mother character portrayed by Virginie Efira in the 2023 French drama, “All to Play For,” which graced the screens at Cannes’ Un Certain Regard. Unlike that movie, where the pace and tension were relentless, “Love Me Tender” tends to wander a bit during its second act, particularly when my character, Clémence, embarks on a serious relationship with a journalist (Monia Chokri) she encounters in a café.

The subplot about Clémence’s ailing father (played by Féodor Atkine) doesn’t seem to contribute much to the story, making the movie feel more like a meandering journey. However, Cambet manages to draw powerful performances from Krieps and other cast members, including Ferrera-Redier as the complex character Paul. Yet, the film may lack direction due to its overly faithful adaptation of Debré’s book, failing to craft a compelling narrative. Instead, it heavily relies on a continuous voiceover filled with the author’s insights, some of which appear trite or clichéd (“Love is brutal,” for instance).

In the final moments, unlike typical films about mothers battling for custody, Love Me Tender deviates from the standard victory against all odds scene. Instead, it delves into a more authentic and somber territory. Despite her efforts to dodge criticism from her ex, social workers, and the courts, Clémence ultimately realizes that it’s impossible to satisfy everyone or strive for dual fulfillment. However, she may find a way to meet her own needs.

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2025-05-20 07:54