Todd Haynes’ gorgeous new film Carol is a delicate, romantic examination of queer identity in the 1950s. Based on the Patricia Highsmith’s novel “The Price of Salt”, about a virginal shop girl named Therese (Rooney Mara) who falls for the titular Carol (Cate Blanchett), this understated lesbian romance is an often joyous look at a blossoming relationship that transcends all obstacles of its era. Articulating that imperceptible pull of deep affection, Carol is wonderfully acted by its two leads. Mara and Blanchett develop an instant, intriguing chemistry that breaths life into their reserved initial exchanges. The immaculately crafted love story demonstrates the power of genuine connection, regardless of gender.

Haynes and his actors are able to express more with a lingering hand on a shoulder than most romances achieve in an entire film. Opening with a nervous dinner between Therese and Carol, the pair of women communicate an extensive mutual history without the benefit of the context that will later be added. Blanchett brings a dignified elegance to her fiery character, with a controlled outward demeanor Carol tries her hardest to maintain. To paraphrase a line from Carol’s jilted husband Harge (an excellent, but one-note Kyle Chandler), she’s always the most commanding presence in the room.

Her stoicism gives way when in the presence of her younger counterpart. It’s the radiant Rooney Mara who shines brightest in Carol, in spite of her character’s passive tendencies. The reserved manner in which Mara carries herself—burdened by the men and job that take her presence for granted – slowly gives way to reveal a girl simply unsure of herself. To Therese, Carol is more than someone to love, but someone whose self-assuredness is something to which she aspires (during their first get together, Therese admits she, “barely know[s] what to order for lunch”). To Carol, Therese is an alluring presence that needs to be coaxed out of her shell. Each actor seems charmed by the other’s quirks. It’s only in Carol’s presence that Therese learns to stick up for her own desires.

Carol shares thematic and temporal similarities to another Haynes film, 2002’s Far From Heaven, with the notable difference between being how retrospectively coy Far From Heaven seems by comparison. While Far From Heaven treats its homosexual elements as a reveal, Carol gives the gay relationship center stage throughout. No characters go so far as to use the L-word, G-word or H-word, but they are unrepentant about their “immoral” feelings. Therese and Carol have a harmonious bond. Even with Haynes’ history in making gay-centric movies (Poison, Velvet Goldmine), Carol feels like a step towards normalcy.

Carol could have simply been a story about a relationship falling victim to a bygone age. Instead, Haynes constructs a testament to love’s ability to endure. It’s a beautiful story only partly due to its unfettered handling of the lesbian relationship, but for the precision with which it portrays their romance. There’s a certain stiffness typically associated with Period Pieces—where costumes and era appropriate dialog gets in the way of character. That is never the case with Todd Haynes’ newest film, which uses time period as set dressing for a humanistic drama. The production details are flawless and immersive, but Haynes’ camera draws attention to his actors’ faces and their mindsets.

The culmination of Therese and Carol’s romance comes naturally. Haynes teases out the process until it seems as if the two are simply meant to get together, and that first blissful moment they share is exciting and moving. The film’s careful finale is Carol at its most tender, ending on a touchingly delightful note in sync with the rest of the film. It’s hope from the past to give us hope for our future.

Premiering as the Closing Night film at the Cannes film festival last year was Claude Miller’s final film (before passing away) Thérèse. Adapted from a novel of the same name, Thérèse is a slow-burner period piece about a newlywed woman who attempts to break free from her marriage and social pressures. The film’s linear structure, no-surprises narrative, and emotionless characters make the whole production feel rather mundane; save for some beautiful cinematography that provides the only stimulation found in the film.

One of the first conversations between the soon to be married couple Thérèse Larrorque (Audrey Tautou) and Bernard Desqueyroux (Gilles Lellouche) is about how much land they will own together, which speaks volumes about their relationship. Both of their families own thousands of acres of pine trees and calculate that once they get married they will own 11,000 acres of land. Even as a young teenager Thérèse was well aware that her future marriage with Bernard would be more for the family’s interest of land ownership rather than actual love. The two acknowledge the business first/love last marriage from the beginning and both are completely content with going through with it anyways.

Contrasting their relationship in just about every way is the love-fueled relationship between Thérèse’s sister-in-law Anne de la Trave (Anaïs Demoustier) and Jean Azevedo (Stanley Weber), a man that the family does not deem fit for Anne. Thérèse envies the love between the two and promises to side with Anne despite the family’s disapproval. But when Thérèse finally meets Jean to discuss Anne, she finds out that he has no intention to marry her and develops a minor infatuation for him.

Thérèse does a credible job of using self-evident visuals to symbolize its narrative. Perhaps the most obvious case of this is how their land of pines represents their marriage, so when it eventually catches on fire it signifies the destruction of their relationship. Or when Thérèse is so disgusted in herself that she puts her hand up to block the reflection because she cannot bear to look back at her own image. Storms are often on the horizon, suggesting that the danger is just around the corner.

Although Audrey Tautou’s role calls for her to be completely free of passion and emotions to the people around her, it does not change the fact that it is frustrating as a viewer to also be shunned of her motivations. For the time period her character is considered free-spirited and full of thoughts, yet we are not privy to what she is thinking. She is as lifeless as the dead animals brought back from the hunting expeditions throughout the film. And while all of this is done on purpose, the most difficult thing to do is care about a character who does not seem to care about anything themselves.

The biggest disappointment in Thérèse is the straightforward approach of the narrative structure. Every step along the way is foreshadowed long before it happens, leaving no surprises or curves to spice up the lethargic narrative when the inevitable does occur. While some of the plot points are made abundantly clear, like how oppressive society was at the time; other subplots dissolve without much explanation, such as Thérèse’s subtle attraction to Jean and subsequent falling out with her best friend Anne. The ornate production design and the outstanding use of cinematography recreate the time period and stand among the most noteworthy characteristics of Thérèse, but they are not enough to overcome all the drawbacks.

Thérèse trailer