Evening. Home. Rotherham.
Watched on DVD.
Rewatch.
About 18 months ago I had a dream about
Vendredi Soir (‘Friday Night’). I had seen it at university and remember loving how honest and tender it was, remembering the close-ups of that Parisian gridlock, remembering the deeply honest portrayal of a lust that is so primal, yet so loving. And I couldn’t fucking find it! Anywhere!
But after managing to track it down finally, I managed to relive and relish in that feeling Claire Denis beautifully lays out. Narrative doesn’t matter here, it’s all about that intense act of longing and lust and what that brings to us, and out of us as humans. It’s really really beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this time of love on screen, especially between two people in a more mature stage of life.
Vincent Lydon and Valerie Lemercier have such some of the best chemistry I’ve seen on screen.
Beautiful imagery, beautiful score, so brave in its lack of dialogue and so dreamy and surreal towards the end. One of those films you think is made for you, and one of those films you kick yourself for not making.
