Pensive and intellectual to the core, Mia Hansen-Løve’s Things to Come is a remarkably intriguing follow-up to her previous film Eden, mostly in how natural it feels even with subjects that seem (on the surface, at least) like they couldn’t be farther apart. For those who’ve never seen the director’s 2014 EDM tale, it follows a young man (a semi-biographical extension of her real-life brother) as he grows up in the early ’90s Parisian dance music scene. Things to Come centers on a woman, decades older than Eden’s protagonist, who teaches high-school philosophy in Paris and lives with her two children and husband of 25 years. At a certain point, it becomes clear that the City of Love isn’t the only thing binding the director’s latest films. Hansen-Løve is fascinated by the idea of human growth, and her creative way of expressing is growing itself.

Things to Come is a gentle wind; it flows so effortlessly, you can almost feel the warmth of its silky texture on your skin. This is generated by the way Hansen-Løve and her DP Denis Lenoir wield the camera around with a spontaneous, fluid spirit, but much of it is also attributable to a marvelous doyenne of the acting world, who carries the entire weight of the film on her shoulders as effortlessly as ever. Isabelle Huppert has an uncanny knack of conveying a remarkably large range of emotions: turning down-to-earth into larger-than-life with one pout, one sideway glance, or an ever-so-slight intonation in a spoken word. She embodies Nathalie, the philosophy professor who is suddenly faced with a concept she’d long forgotten about. In her own words: “total freedom.” Her husband, Heinz (Andre Marcon), has left her for another woman, and she has retouched base with former student Fabien (Roman Kolinka), whose combination of youth and intellect make him especially interesting for Nathalie. In some other film, perhaps, their relationship would be replete with perverse suggestions; under Hansen-Løve’s wing, their bond is strictly platonic and cerebral.

As the film follows Nathalie and her various evolutions—adapting to a new school regime that takes a modern marketing ax to her dear philosophy, dealing with a demented mother (Edith Scob), etc.—questions are mulled over in the refined, graceful way one images an oenophile tasting vintage wine. Is there a practical place for philosophy in today’s world? What does a woman over 40, whose kids are all grown up and whose memories are now tainted by her husband’s decision, have to hold on to? Is burying yourself in intellectual thoughts and readings enough to be happy? Hansen-Løve bears her old soul through the way she deals with these questions, with just the right balance of humor and melancholy. There’s just enough style to keep it at an arms-length from being a slice-of-life picture in the cinema verité sense, but the story, the characters, and the ideas on display keep the film firmly rooted to the ground and in reality.

Women’s stories, female directors, roles for women over 45—these debates are very much at the forefront of today’s film conversations. Things to Come is a serendipitous celebration of all three. Mia Hansen-Løve, still in her 30s, shows immense sensibility and maturity in tackling insular subject matter that would have most studio heads bolting for the door. In Isabelle Huppert, she has found the perfect collaborator—an actress of incredible depth and range, who makes every frame that much more fascinating to behold. Now, when I think about Eden and Things to Come as companion pieces, it’s hard to imagine another director who handles the subject of “moving on” with the kind of delicate deftness and assuredness that Mia Hansen-Løve demonstrates.

Holy Motors opens in a theater of unmoving bodies, an unseen film plays. A man wakes in a bed on a boat, uses the key he has in place of a finger and stumbles through the wall into the movie theater as a baby and a dog walk up the aisles. Having established strange as the new normal, it’s a bit easier to accept the rest of this film and it’s so-called “story line”.

The film follows a day in the life of Monsieur Oscar (Denis Lavant), who makes his way around Paris from one “appointment” to the next in a white stretch limo driven by Céline (played gracefully by Edith Scob), his dutiful chauffeur. At each stop, Oscar exits from his limo as someone new. He’s an elderly beggar woman, a motion capture stunt man with sensors illuminating his body, a monstrous kidnapper, a hard-nosed father, a dying old man, a thug sent to assassinate his own doppelganger, and the list continues as Monsieur Oscar’s day is long. We watch Oscar between each appointment reading the file on what he is to be next, grabbing a bite to eat, chatting with Celine and transforming himself for whatever is next on the agenda. ‘Behind and in front of the camera’ become meaningless phrases as our actor prepares, meticulously applying fake hair and rubber masks, and puts himself into his scene, changing his entire persona on a dime. He is woman, he is young, he is old, he is two of himself, he is hideous, and he is handsome.

While Leos Carax’s first feature film in over a decade may be trying to sell itself as an ode to the complexity and multi-dimensions of the art of film, it proves most to be an ode to the man on screen. The actor, who carries out each emotion and holds the story in his hands. Denis Lavant, Carax’s longtime favorite actor and star of most his films, proves that his expert chameleonic abilities are the real subject of this film.

Carax imagines a world where the cameras are always rolling and the actor does not choose his parts, he must be ready to be anything. However, he seems to forget that a film works best when those parts are given context, when we the audience are able to see the evolution of those characters, and our day with Oscar gives us no real insight into his life. The only scene where we may be seeing a moment that is truly just Oscar’s story is when he literally runs into an ex-love, played by Kylie Minogue. She implies they may have had a child once upon a time and sings a haunting song wondering aloud what if they had done things differently. While the scene was a great reminder of the emotional impact music has inside film, it’s over all too quickly and we’re left to wonder what was the rest of these two old lovers’ story? Or was this another scene and we’ve been duped into thinking it may have been real? Lavant is credited to have played 11 roles in Holy Motors, though Celine says he has only 9 appointments that day. What’s real and what isn’t? And so Carax checks off the musical genre among his references in the film and we move on. Though, on the note of music, the intermission of the film, a sweeping harmonized accordion number almost makes the whole film worth the cost of admission. Almost.

Carax’s film has laugh out loud moments, beautiful tableaus, and a truly versatile actor but it falls short of a being a thoroughly realized film and thus isn’t believable as a sincere celebration of the art form. At least Carax does acknowledge that most essential cog of the movie experience motor: the audience. Oscar’s mysterious boss tells him in one scene, “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder”, and Oscar asks, “What if there is no beholder?” reminding us that without the audience the actor works in vain, his existence holds no meaning. Filmmaking has evolved consistently throughout the years, and one day the cameras may indeed be invisible, but the actor and his audience will always be essential. If Carax had been a bit more mindful of the audience’s needs, he may have made a true masterpiece and not a disjointed glimpse at a great actor.