The kind of funny thing about overlapping dialog is you don’t quite realize it’s there until it’s suddenly not. The typical cadences of interaction are abandoned in favor of a more stilted, expressive manner of speech in La Sapienza. It’s the newest film from American-born but French-naturalized Eugéne Green (and his first since 2009’s The Portuguese Nun). La Sapienza serves as the filmmaker’s love letter to 17th century architecture, and the work of Italian architect Francesco Borromini. Green frames this homage through the martial difficulties of a modern couple, Alexandre and Alienor Schmidt (played by Fabrizio Rongione and Christelle Prot Landman, respectively).

Alexandre is an architect as well, one who touts the factories he’s helped design as modern-day churches. At the film’s onset, he’s receiving a lifetime achievement award. Meanwhile Alienor works as a psychoanalyst, conducting studies of cultures on a macro-scale. Their outer successes would seemingly indicate a happy marriage; however, the couples’ awkward dinner date and stiff communications indicate otherwise. Alexandre decides to travel to Italy in hopes of completing his long-gestating book on Borromini, and informs Alienor as if it were an announcement.

Green has Rongione and Landman often speaking to one another but facing outward, as if cheating their posture toward an unseen theater audience. This technique can make these exchanges appear uncomfortably sincere, but the effect also highlights each line of dialog, nearly all of which contains a precisely articulated feeling from one of the film’s characters. Green seems intent on allowing unfiltered expressions of a dissolving marriage provide the context for La Sapeinza’s narrative thrust, regardless of how rigid that approach feels in moments of the film. Sometimes it feels like we’re just waiting for the next character to speak.

The couple arrives in Italy and quickly meets a pair of siblings—Goffredo and Lavinia (Ludovico Succio and Arianna Nastro)—just as Lavinia is struck by one of her infrequent dizzy spells. Without deliberation, Alexandre and Alienor help their new, young friends catch a taxi back home to help Lavinia rest, then take Goffredo out to lunch only to learn he soon plans on beginning his studies as an architect. This chance encounter gives Alienor an idea: she will stay in Stresa while Lavinia recuperates and Goffredo will accompany Alexandre to learn about architecture. By this point, it’s clear the married couple hasn’t been enjoying their time together, yet this suggestion still feels hasty.

Giving over to the exploration of fleeting love and Baroque architecture in La Sapienza might elicit a thoughtful response in some; however, the narrative imposed on the movie is jarringly blatant, with subtext delivered as text. Where La Sapienza seems primarily concerned is in its explanations of the life of Borromini, matched with artfully framed shots of his work. The church façades and intricately crafted vaults are discussed while Green’s camera slowly pans across the design, occasionally making a full 360-degree spin around the ceilings of particular churches. This studying of Borromini’s work takes Alexandre and Goffredo to the Church of Saint Yves at La Sapienza in Rome that gives Green’s film its title. The beauty is undeniable, but it seems obvious from the film’s preoccupancy with Borromini that Eugéne Green simply finds 17th Century architecture much more fascinating than the average filmgoer (or myself at least).

Perhaps the most compelling sequence among a slew of dialog-heavy exchanges comes during a bout of Alexandre’s insomnia when he’s decided to work on his Borromini book. As we see close-ups of Borromini’s work, as well as a vignette of his final night, Alexandre speaks in voice-over the words he plans to include in his book. When the sequence intersperses shots of Alexandre in bed, it becomes clear that the scene is meant to illustrate his writing process, a process that often appears uncinematic in movies. With La Sapienza, Green manages to articulate the struggle to put words to the page without simply showing Alexandre slouching over a laptop.

Ultimately, the blending of past with present does little to inform either. Eugéne Green’s ode to the legacy of Francesco Borromini is able to beautifully capture the architect’s iconic constructions, yet it’s unfavorably matched with a non-engaging narrative. It’s intriguing to see Rongione and Landman navigate such odd conversations, and both deliver fine performances (stronger ones than their younger counterparts), but there is so much empty space within the margins of La Sapienza that your attention is drawn to the voids rather than the substance.

The Dardenne brothers, Jean-Pierre and Luc, are worshiped filmmakers in the art-house community. They have been impressing audiences since 1996’s The Promise and are among the distinguished few who have two Palme D’Ors to their name (for 1999’s Rosetta and 2005’s The Child). This year, the question is: can they be the first to get three? If the press screening reaction I was a part of this morning is any indication, the answer is louder than Obama’s “yes we can!”. Two Days, One Night premiered this morning and while every previous screening I’ve seen this early ended with a few appreciative claps from the groggy journalists, this one practically received a standing ovation. After their previous effort, 2011’s The Kid With A Bike, didn’t move audiences as much they’re usually capable of doing this one feels like a return to form for the Dardennes. Marion Cotillard gives a sensational performance, and is now the frontrunner for Best Actress. The simplicity of the story is matched only by the weight of the everyday struggle, something the Dardennes are masters of, and in this particular case a growing will power becomes truly inspirational. Though I’ve never personally counted myself among the Dardenne worshippers, I cannot deny the inner satisfaction and victorious sensation Two Days, One Night fills you with.

Cinema verite style is never so deftly handled as it is in the hands of the Dardenne brothers. Quiet conversations and seemingly mundane moments are given precedence over action, movements are followed and observed by a caring camera in a role of close companion, and the conflict rooted into the story is taken from the ordinary. Every major Dardenne film has the connecting thread of emptiness (be it the loss of a child, absence of a parent, etc.) that is in desperate need of filling. In the case of Two Days, One Night, it’s the absence of a job as Sandra (Cotillard) finds herself fighting for hers under pretty unusual circumstances. After a bout with depression, Sandra returned to work to find out about a vote that got her fired. The employees of her company were asked to choose between receiving bonuses (up to 1,000 extra Euros) or keeping Sandra on, because cut backs had to be made otherwise. Juliette, one of Sandra’s supporters convinces their boss to allow for another secret ballot to be held on Monday morning, to get the employees voting again without the influence of a heartless foreman. Sandra’s mission, urged on by her supporting husband Manu (Fabrizio Rongione), is to reach out to people over the weekend and try to convince them to vote for her so she can keep her job.

It’s the perfect Dardenne premise, because the fear of losing a job is one of the major universal subjects of our current state of affairs, and it’s action-less enough for that verite style to do its magic and pull you into Sandra’s casual, disheveled lifestyle. Cotillard is perfectly sympathetic, wearing her tail between her legs tightly enough to win over any cranky audience, her crying fits doing exactly what they’re constructed to; gain support on and off-screen. This touches upon one of my major issues with the film. Notwithstanding its inspirational and authoritative character, the film plays cleverly with some of Sandra’s idiosyncrasies and some of her colleagues’ reactions to her plight (Timur comes to mind) to a point of obvious fabrication. When some of the scenes become too designed to be real, it effectively pops the organic bubble and makes you realize; “oh wait, this is a movie.”

There is something a little rotten in the idea of this film winning the Palme; it would be a celebration of the everyday struggle by people who are privileged enough to never experience it (or at least, never again.) With two previous Palmes to their name, I’d say give it to someone who’s never won. It’s not like the competition is lacking in possibilities. However, Marion Cotillard seamlessly integrates herself into the Dardenne narrative and makes us forget how much of a superstar she is. For that, she should win her first Cannes Best Actress award.

Originally published on May 20th, 2014 during the Cannes Film Festival

Eugene Green’s films are an acquired taste, to say the least. The French-American director’s style tends to highlight artifice to an uncomfortable degree. Actors are deliberately coached to deliver their lines in a strange, droll tone, like they’re speaking in a video on how to learn a foreign language. At the same time Green shoots his actors head-on, making them stare the camera down the entire time. It takes some time to adjust, but La Sapienza certainly has a strong command of its off-kilter mood, and by the end it creates a lovely harmony between its lush cinematography and rich thematic content.

Alexandre (Fabrizio Rongione), a successful architect, falls into a personal and professional crisis: his relationship to wife Alienor (Christelle Prot Landman) feels lifeless (this is where Green’s style works like gangbusters), and he’s almost lost the passion for his livelihood. Alexandre decides to go on a trip to Italy to observe the work of Francesco Borromini, one of his favorite architects, and Alienor agrees to go with him. During a brief stay in Stresa, a small northern Italian town, the two bump into two young siblings; Goffredo (Ludovico Succio), about to start studying architecture in Venice, and Lavinia (Arianna Nastro), a young girl suffering from a medical condition. Alienor chooses to stay behind and care for Lavinia, offering the young, eager Goffredo to go to Italy with Alexandre in her place. Alexandre bristles at the idea, having no choice but to accept his wife’s proposal.

At this point the film branches off, cutting back  and forth between Alexandre and Goffredo’s trip and Alienor and Lavinia’s time together. Through Alexandre’s conversations with Goffredo, the older architect eventually rediscovers his love for architecture, and Alienor experiences a similar revelation. Green spends plenty of time letting characters talk about architecture, space, and the way people occupy these spaces. It also shows through his direction, putting a large amount of focus on Borromini’s gorgeous buildings along with how light and people operate within them. Fans of Baroque architecture can simply watch Green and cinematographer Raphaël O’Byrne’s well-composed shots of Borromini’s work and come away satisfied.

But even those without any interest in architecture can still find something to admire in Green’s unique, pleasurable oddity. The film’s bizarre mood engrosses more than it alienates, making it easy to fall into Green’s very specific rhythm. It’s a nice entry point into a peculiar cinematic universe, and those willing to open themselves to it will find a lot to enjoy.