The low rumble of an audience is accompanied by the crash of water, where a young woman is painstakingly poised, unreachable. Her young admirer waits in the stands, captivated by her presence as Dies Irae by Giuseppe Verdi roars over the speakers, cheered on by the splashing of synchronized swimmers. This is the opening of Céline Sciamma’s 2007 debut film Water Lilies, a requiem for childhood left behind, and the struggle of continuing adolescence ahead.
Set in a quiet suburb on the outskirts of Paris, Marie (Pauline Acquart), Anne (Louise Blachère), and Floriane (Adèle Haenel) tackle their first expressions of desire, tied together by the water of the swimming pool that brings them together. For Marie, her awakening is through her infatuation with Floriane, the seemingly unattainable older synchronized swimmer who is perceived as ‘easy’ with men by her teammates, and becomes her unlikely companion for the summer.
As always with Sciamma, mirroring her latest work, Portrait of a Lady on Fire, the gazes between the girls are returned, making the end result all the more heart wrenching. She rather brilliantly uses the show of synchronized swimming to convey the performance of femininity: pretty, composed and effortless on the surface, but straining underneath, trying so hard to be what the world is drawn to, especially in the case of Floriane.
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Floriane, despite seeming to conform the easiest, struggles throughout the film to maintain the persona she projects, despite it not allowing her to understand or accept herself as she is. She is left trapped by the pressures of a hetero-patriarchal society, and has difficulties realizing both the depth of her desire for Marie, and her lesbianism in relation to her ties to men.
In a defining scene of the film, Floriane reveals to Marie the different instances of unwanted, and heavily inappropriate, male attention coming from an even younger age as the two sit on a staircase together. A wide shot that contrasts the rest of the film to show the scale of how large and intimidating their world can be. Floriane says, because of the way she looks, men pursue her in a way that Marie is free from, which subtextually implies that it prevents her from understanding her own sexuality and desires as a lesbian.
Anne, who under another filmmaker’s grasp could easily have been relegated to a minor role, experiences these same pressures, dealing with her own attraction. And trying to come to terms with what she wants versus what she’s expected to want.
A scene in the middle of the film is a moment of levity in which the director herself cameos as a McDonald’s cashier, briefly shining light on simple feelings of clinging to childhood. In this case wanting to order from the children’s menu. It’s cheaper; it comes with a cool toy, and just because Anne’s not supposed to want it anymore doesn’t mean she doesn’t miss it.
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The film takes the three to the end of their first loves, and for Marie and Anne, their acceptance of how and what they love, masterfully relayed by a closing shot. The two girls who now know themselves laying flat in the pool like water lilies on the surface, while Floriane dances alone.
Céline Sciamma faithfully captures the shared experiences not only of so many women coming to terms with their own desire and love amidst the pressures of society and of womanhood, but also the added confusion and angst of the young lesbian experience that comes when figuring it all out. And it does it gorgeously. Her film is minimalist as a whole, with bright visuals, and a sparkling score from Para One that is subtle enough to remain an accentuation of the drama. She elicits emotion through her medium poignantly, and this emotional intelligence only grows as her films mature.
As typical throughout all of her works, the dialogue is sparse and every scene is purposeful. With an avoidance of filler for connectivity which keeps the runtime breezy. Water Lilies is a collection of memories, with the temporality of one summer tying them together. Those that make you wistfully smile when looking back, and those that one would rather forget but never could. Everything is there: the awkwardness, the ridiculous things one does for love, the waiting, the desire, and so much of the heartbreak.
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Sciamma skillfully maneuvers the film in a direction that it is filled with, yes, angst, but also with moments of joy that take away the pain of not yet knowing yourself. Even the most heartbreaking moments are displayed with such tenderness and empathy. There’s a reminiscent quality within the writing, as if looking back on her own awakening and experiences, doing so transparently, sparing no moments of embarrassment.
Sciamma may not have directly filmed her on her own experience as a young lesbian, but knows the rough road to find others like yourself in any medium, whether via cinema or literature. For THR, she says she will finally feel good about lesbian representation when “it won’t feel like saving lives”. Due to the prevalence of LGBTQ media online since when she grew up, it’s much easier to access knowledge on a path to lesbian existence, but this content isn’t always made for our consumption.
Water Lilies is a raw and gentle gem of a coming-of-age film that is made without the male gaze, and with this new generation of lesbians in mind. Sciamma does not hesitate to pour the memories clinging to her younger heart into this script. Leaving us with an incredibly emotive work of art that has only just now gotten its due as the critical world acknowledges her talent.
Water Lilies is available to stream on The Criterion Channel
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