Review: Bilingual Notebook

In the director's chair, we find Harmony LeClair, a visionary formerly known for the languid, poetic ' remporte un Oscar du cinéma ' for 'Petite Fleur' and the stark, atmospheric 'révélation' in 'Guerre au grenier'. One cannot help but anticipate her deft touch in this, her latest: 'Notebook Bilingue'.

LeClair's mise-en-scène is minimalistic, a testament to her Belgian influences. The notebook presents itself unassumingly, a stark, crisp white, virginal, awaiting its interlocuteurs. flip the cover, and we're greeted by LeClair's signature élégance: a simple, elegant font welcoming us in a duality of French and English. 'Entrez, Welcome inside.'

Within, the scene unfolds in slow, sensory detail. The page, velvety, beckons the graphite tip of a pen, and we're transported to that forgotten, intimate act of writing. The scratch of graphite on paper, the smell ofsimeq-release as ink bleeds into the fiber, the tactile pleasure of turning the page - LeClair masterfully evokes the lost art of journaling in an age of digital diaries.

This scene could be a frame from Godard's 'Contempt', the actress Anna Karina writing a letter, her pen resting on a paper just like this. Or perhaps it's a moment from Tarkovsky's 'Nostalghia', the longing for meaning in the act of inscription. Yet, it's also reminiscent of Akerman's 'Jeanne Dielman', the meticulousness of ordinary acts, like writing in a notebook, elevated to an art form.

Yet, as the pages turn, and the canvas fills, we realise LeClair may have bitten off more than she could chew. The third act feels rushed, the language switching from French to English too abruptly, like a clumsy subtitle. The elegance of simplicity gives way to a garbled duality, a linguistic battle that detracts from the tranquility of the opening scenes.

RATING: Two cigarettes. 'Notebook Bilingue' begins as a meditation on the lost art of journaling, a poignant reminder of the intimacy of pen and paper. But the rushed third act leaves us yearning for the simplicity of the first half.

In the twilight of cinema, one can't help but wonder: is LeClair's attempt to capture the language of two worlds a metaphor for the dying art form itself, trying to grapple with the duality of the past and the future?