French Archives – Laemmle Theatres

Cédric Klapisch’s ‘Colors of Time’ Irreverently Approaches Art Appreciation

August 19, 2026 by Lamb Laemmle Leave a Comment

Never entirely serious nor quite an all-out comedy, Cédric Klapisch’s Colors of Time might best be described as “cheeky” in its comparison of our current media moment to that of early 20th-century Paris. Through parallel narratives that play fast and loose with history, it’s all about how art may change, but reactions to it remain universal.

Colors of Time opens Aug. 27^th at Laemmle’s Royal, Glendale, and Town Center 5.

As the film opens, a punk-styled girl with dyed red hair and intricate body art takes selfies in front of large, impressionist paintings in a gallery. Across the room, a film crew is creating “content” by having an influencer strike dance poses in front of another artwork. Alas, the color of her dress doesn’t match the painting, but since the clothes are sponsor-provided, they’ll just have to tweak the color of the masterpiece behind her in post-production. Throughout the gallery, there’s nary a spectator who isn’t utilizing some sort of mobile device in some way. This is how we consume and process art now.

In another time period, a century or so earlier, Adele (Spring Blossom writer-director-star Suzanne Lindon) journeys from the country to Paris, first by horse-drawn cart and then by riverboat, in search of the mother who funds her life but has never shown up in person. Along the way, she’ll find herself amidst a burgeoning art movement, at the birth of impressionism, photography, and even a rumored new invention called the cinematograph.

Connecting the two time periods is Adele’s country house, unopened since 1945 or thereabouts. Today, she has approximately 30 descendants, who must decide whether or not to sell the property to a shopping mall. Four are chosen to be representative of the group; each clad in different primary colors, they seem to have each inherited different aspects of the young Adele’s personality. Content-creator Seb (Abraham Wapler) is her youth, anti-capitalist beekeper Guy (playwright and actor Vincent Macaigne) her idealism, future planner and iconoclast Celine (Julia Piaton) her ambition, and schoolteacher Abdel (Klapisch regular Zinadine Soualem) her grounded self.

As the four distant cousins journey by train back and forth from the plant-covered house, they find letters, photos, and even two mysterious paintings that offer clues to their shared past. Meanwhile, with clever cuts and dissolves, the past comes alive, with Adele standing out in a bright red blouse amid the more muted gentlemen of Paris. Only when she finds her mother, now a high-end prostitute, in an equally red room, does she blend into the background, much as Adele might like to shrink away in embarrassment herself.

In both time periods, attitudes towards art are changing, with young people embracing the new, be it photography or digital editing, as the older generation of critics scoffs. While the past illuminates the future and present, Klapisch suggests that it personal stakes will always motivate the best art in any era. When the timelines briefly merge, in one of cinema’s unlikeliest drug trips, things get really interesting!

Klapisch’s 2002 hit L’Auberge Espagnole brought together a group of international grad students, and in the subsequent two sequels, followed them over the course of ten years. A gulf of much more than a decade separates the two generations in Colors of Time, but their needs and desires are universal, as are their naysayers, who wish those darn kids in their respective generations would take the time to slow down and enjoy real conversation and connection. This is a movie which suggests that art should facilitate that dialogue rather than separate spectators from it, no matter the tech involved. That most of the primary actors are also creators feels like a pointed, relevant choice in that regard.

“Klapisch is brilliant at directing an ensemble piece, in which the relationships between the characters weave the story, but he also takes the opportunity to pay homage to those who lived…before us.” – Roger Salvans, Fotogramas.

“Klapisch demonstrates, in the most aesthetic and sensory way, the necessity of engaging with the past to move forward in the present.” – Paula Hernandez Platero, Cinemania.

Modern Love, Unfiltered: The Bold Charm of ‘Two Women’

April 28, 2026 by Lamb Laemmle Leave a Comment

There’s a mischievous spark at the heart of Two Women, a film that takes a familiar setup—restless relationships, suburban routines—and flips it into something unexpectedly playful, warm, and quietly subversive. Directed with a light but assured touch by Chloé Robichaud, this Montreal-set comedy finds humor and honesty in the messiness of modern love.

Catch Two Women in theaters beginning May 1st at the Laemmle Monica and Town Center, followed by a special screening and Q&A hosted by Not Your Daddy’s Films following the 7:10 p.m. show on May 2nd at the Monica.

The story centers on two neighbors, Violette and Florence, who form an unspoken bond over their shared dissatisfaction at home. Violette, adjusting to new motherhood, finds herself adrift in a marriage that has lost all sense of intimacy, while Florence, navigating her own partner’s lack of libido, feels similarly disconnected. Their apartments may only be a balcony apart, but emotionally, they’ve both been stranded for some time.

What follows isn’t subtle: both women begin having affairs, embarking on a string of clandestine hookups that quickly spiral into something both comedic and unexpectedly revealing. Yet what might sound like a setup for moralizing instead plays out with a surprising lightness, for rather than framing this infidelity as purely destructive, Two Women treats it as a catalyst—messy, impulsive, and often funny—for the characters to confront what’s missing in their lives and to begin to discover what they actually want.

At the center of it all are two standout performances. Karine Gonthier-Hyndman brings a subtle emotional evolution to Florence, charting her journey from quiet detachment to a more awakened, self-assured presence. Opposite her, Laurence Leboeuf gives Violette a lively, layered warmth, balancing the character’s natural humor with an undercurrent of vulnerability. Together, they create a dynamic that feels genuinely lived-in, less like a traditional movie friendship and more like something instinctive and real.

Robichaud’s direction keeps the tone buoyant even as the film brushes up against larger questions about relationships, expectations, and autonomy. There’s a sense that Two Women is less interested in offering definitive answers than in simply letting its characters explore the questions themselves. That openness extends to the film’s humor, which leans into awkwardness and absurdity without ever losing sight of its characters’ humanity.

Ultimately, Two Women is a film about connection: between friends, between partners, and (perhaps most importantly) with oneself. It’s playful without being trivial, thoughtful without being heavy, and anchored by performances that make every twist feel earned. In a landscape where stories about relationships often follow well-worn paths, this one finds its own rhythm—and invites audiences to enjoy the ride.

“[The film’s] reflections on modern relationships are engagingly comical, cynical and ultimately tender. ” – Allan Hunter, Screen Daily

“[Two Women is] unafraid of sex and female pleasure in a way that feels so rare in modern films.” – Jesse Saunders, Movie Jawn

All the Right Notes: ‘Two Pianos’ and the Music of Complicated Love

April 21, 2026 by Lamb Laemmle Leave a Comment

There’s a certain kind of cinematic romance that doesn’t just tug at the heartstrings: It yanks them, bends them, and occasionally snaps them altogether. Two Pianos, a lush and emotionally charged drama from Arnaud Desplechin, belongs squarely in that tradition, treating love, memory, and music with the same heightened intensity as a symphony reaching its crescendo.

Catch Two Pianos in theaters beginning May 1st at the Laemmle Royal.

At the film’s center is Mathias, a gifted pianist whose return to his hometown of Lyon sets multiple strands of his life into motion at once. Played with sensitivity and restraint by François Civil, Mathias is a man caught between multiple versions of himself: the rising talent he once was, the underachieving teacher he has become, and the artist he might still be. His reunion with his formidable former mentor Elena—brought to life with imperious precision by Charlotte Rampling—pulls him back toward the stage, even as his personal life threatens to spiral in less controlled directions.

That personal life arrives with a jolt in the form of Claude, an old flame whose sudden reappearance sends the film into a kind of emotional overdrive. Nadia Tereszkiewicz plays her as mercurial and magnetic, someone who can shift from vulnerability to volatility in a heartbeat. What follows between her and Mathias is less a rekindling than a collision, two people circling unresolved feelings with a mixture of longing, regret, and lovestruck impulsivity.

Desplechin leans fully into this heightened register, crafting a story that moves with the unpredictability of memory itself. Chance encounters carry the weight of destiny; small gestures erupt into grand declarations. There are even fleeting touches of the uncanny, as Mathias becomes fixated on a young boy who seems to mirror his own past, adding another layer to the film’s fascination with doubling.

Yet for all its dramatic flourishes, Two Pianos remains grounded by its deep connection to music. The performances, both literal and emotional, are inseparable from the rhythms of the score, which pulses through the film with a restless energy. Classical pieces intertwine with an evocative original composition, creating a soundscape that cleverly mirrors the turbulence of the characters’ inner lives.

Visually, the film is just as expressive. Cinematographer Paul Guilhaume captures Lyon in rich, shifting tones, moving from shadowy interiors to crisp autumnal light, as if the city itself were responding to the characters’ emotional journeys. The effect is immersive without being overstated, allowing the story’s intensity to breathe and stretch its versatile narrative limbs.

If Two Pianos feels like it’s playing multiple melodies at once, that’s part of its design. It’s a film about divided selves and second chances, about the pull of the past and the risk of moving forward. And like any memorable piece of music, it lingers—not because it resolves every note, but because it dares to play them at full volume.

“Desplechin draws something liminal from a specific sense of place.” – Sheri Linden, The Hollywood Reporter

“[An] earnestly inflamed tale of art, grief, betrayal and all-consuming amour.” – Guy Lodge, Variety

François Ozon’s Cool, Unsettling ‘The Stranger’

April 7, 2026 by Lamb Laemmle Leave a Comment

What does it mean to bring The Stranger—a novel defined by absence, detachment, and interiority—into a medium built on appearances? In his new adaptation of Albert Camus’s 1942 classic, François Ozon approaches that challenge not by radically reimagining the text, but by making its silences visible. The result is a film that feels at once faithful and interpretive, attuned to both the enduring power of Camus’s text and the historical context it left largely unspoken.

Tune into Inside the Arthouse to hear Ozon discuss his latest film with co-hosts Greg Laemmle and Raphael Sbarge, or catch it in theaters beginning April 10th at the Laemmle Royal, Glendale, and Town Center theaters.

Set in 1930s Algiers under French colonial rule, the film follows Meursault (Benjamin Voisin), a clerk whose emotional detachment shapes every aspect of his life. He receives news of his mother’s death with little visible reaction, carrying out the rituals of mourning with a kind of mechanical precision. In Ozon’s retelling, it’s as if Meursault has only just arrived in the world at that moment: unformed, unmoored, and curiously untouched by the social expectations that surround him.

That sense of dislocation extends into his relationships. He begins an affair with Marie (Rebecca Marder), responds to her questions with indifference, and drifts into the orbit of his volatile neighbor Raymond (Pierre Lottin). Meursault rarely initiates; he responds. Yet this passivity proves deceptive as he repeatedly declines to perform basic gestures that would mark him as a passable member of society while simultaneously slipping into patterns of behavior that align him with its ugliest assumptions.

Ozon captures this tension with remarkable precision. Shot in crisp black-and-white, the film emphasizes texture and physical sensation: sunlight on skin, the rhythm of breath, the weight of heat pressing down on bodies. These tactile details root us in Meursault’s immediate experience even as his inner life remains opaque. Voisin’s performance is key here: controlled, watchful, and withholding, he becomes a figure defined as much by what he doesn’t express as by what he does.

At the same time, Ozon subtly expands the frame of Camus’ story. Where the novel treats its colonial setting as a given, the film foregrounds it, allowing the social and political tensions of French Algeria to register more clearly. The people who exist at the margins of Meursault’s awareness take on a greater presence, not through overt revision but through subtle shifts in emphasis. The result is a quiet but meaningful rebalancing, one that reframes Meursault’s indifference as something shaped not only by temperament but by environment.

As perhaps the quintessential work of existentialist fiction, The Stranger endures not because it offers answers, but because it resists them. Ozon’s adaptation honors that resistance, even as it invites us to look more closely at the world surrounding it, and at what it means to move through that world without fully engaging with it.

“The Stranger, it turns out, is a story for our times, which makes this lovely new version doubly welcome.” – Bilge Ebiri, Vulture

“Ozon’s The Stranger keeps the spirit of its source material alive as a timeless warning in a modern world of stark polarization, ongoing colonialism, and plenty of Meursaults ignoring the suffering of others.” – Monica Castillo, The AV Club