This is honestly one of the best films I’ve seen in a while.The storyline is beautiful yet very raw.The film shows realistic side of love.In life things always change. Nothing is constant. You grow and sometimes that leads to growing apart.Nothing stays the same but it doesn’t mean that the feeling you once had were not real.
I am trying to conjure a memory that’s been withered by time because I think I have lost a very important one.
Where has my love at first sight gone? It certainly happened. But how? And when?
You see a crowd. You ignore them. They walk past you. You walk past them. You and the crowd are chasing each of your own time. Humans have the subconscious logic of taking one step forward with each ticking of the clock.
Life marches on.
But then it suddenly halts. And holymotherofwhat how.
With caution, you cross the street, your safety-trained eyes looking left to right, catching a figure of someone so beautiful that you stop dead in your tracks and gaze in an open-mouthed awe. You hold your breath for seconds, look down or away to dig for reason but you cannot take away the creeping heat of blush off your face.
You hear the cars honking and mutter an apology as you unintentionally collide with a two-wheeled vehicle with a human on it, a rather violent shake out of a reverie that you’re still trying to place. What is happening? You cannot peel your eyes away from the object of interest. And as the other person moves toward another direction, your eyes follow: she, the true north and you, the compass.
In all likelihood, you feel an alien version of butterflies, the sort that holds a rave party in the pit of your stomach.
Your jaws drop. Your heartbeat speeds up you’d probably frighten the family doctor with a mini heart attack. Well, sort of. That, my friend, is love at first sight though you may realize it only later than sooner.
That scene was flawlessly captured in Abdellatif Kechiche’s “Blue is the Warmest Colour”, a critically acclaimed 2013 film that earned a special publicity for its 10 full minutes of lesbian sex.
The sex, if not excellent, looked real enough that in retrospect made me suspect an annoyingly funny foreshadowing as the two lesbian characters discussed eating oysters. Later, they eat each other. Yeah, really.
Emma is the older lesbian, the ‘educator’, who characteristically possesses the virtue of restraint from the get-go, making her interest manifest with a too-innocent peck on the other character’s cheek during their first non-date under a tree.
Adèle, the ‘student’, was the hungry neophyte whose nubile lesbian body is fraught with itches that achingly needed to be scratched.
The scratching, we soon will realize, is generally an education, not just in sex but also in culture, the arts, social relations and intrinsically, some type of philosophy.
Adèle and Emma’s love story is far from unique and was told squarely so. It runs with the same kind of mechanism as any archetype relationship: passion, ownership, jealousy and fallibility. Their sex was carnal but not bestial, merely a common expression of one’s surrender to a flesh-driven vulnerability.
In the beginning of a relationship you see your partner as an extension of who you are, like a dismembered part of your body that will function at best with you in proximity. But things happen, making you realize that no matter how great a love is, the other person is a totally separate being that is not you, making you question if they would be ok without your existence. In suchlike manner, this is how things fall apart: when one begins to grasp the flawed architecture of love and union that is only as strong and as weak as the ground that holds them upright, a common shared emotion. Loneliness begins to surface. An important question is asked. Am I ever going to be enough for the other person? This rhetorical question is the hole that sears through the heart, a void that will soon need to be filled, right or wrong.
In the midst of her insecurity, Adèle tried to fill that void with judgment that was blind to consequence, a betrayal that Emma could not forgive. They separate.
This is the void for the audience. What now? That was almost a fucking good story.
The ex-lovers meet in a café and we almost sense a reconciliation when Adèle began ravaging Emma’s hand with her mouth, hungry for the old flame’s taste and touch. Emma reciprocates. They kiss passionately. They lap at each other, saliva swapping at its gross finest. Hands travel to the midsections, at the ready to give pleasure. But they stop. Because Emma stops.
And drops the bomb.
‘I don’t love you anymore.’
We feel Adèle’s pain as, amidst tears and snot and all, she breathlessly sobs.
‘But I have infinite tenderness for you. I always will. All my life long.’
Emma softens the blow.
Adèle accepts the final rejection.
It’s a sad film.
It reminds me of a rainy, gloomy childhood summer, one that sent me shivering in a sickbed, definitely not the best of summers but one that is certainly felt the most.
I have forgotten when I last had ‘love at first sight’ and how.
But I remember the face and the name it answers to.