Beneath the Lilies

The qualities [to be sought in work] are: a meaningful coherence of form and content; the subtle but precise deployment of detail in the service of that meaning; vigor and clarity of expression; and seriousness of purpose.

- Daniel Mendelsohn How Beautiful it is and How Easily it Can Be Broken

I had the pleasure of watching the award winning film Water Lilies (Naissance des Pieuvres) recently. Using critic (and one of my personal heroes) Daniel Mendelsohn’s formula, I thought I’d try my hand at reviewing the film. Spoilers ahead…

Written and directed by Céline Sciamma, watching Water Lilies is akin to taking leisurely swim, sliding your face beneath the surface and opening your eyes. Much of the movie takes place in, under and around chlorinated water, but it’s the emotional aspect of the film that is most like the underwater world, where sight and sound are muddled and the need to rise—relieve the pressure, breathe, be free—is paramount.

The movie follows the ellipses of three adolescent girls—Marie (Pauline Acquart), Anne (Louise Blachère) and Floriane (Adèle Haenel)—as they respond to their nascent sexuality. Floriane and Anne are both on the synchronized swimming team that Marie aspires to be a part of, though Floriane is at a higher level. In the first scene, we see Marie, a tom-boyish looking brunette, watching the dips and spins of the swimmers longingly. The camera then switches to slightly chubby, short-haired Anne lingering in the locker room, waiting to disrobe till everyone has left. As Marie awaits in the hallway, we get our first glimpse of Floriane, a sultry blonde, and the two make eye contact before she brushes by. Meanwhile, in the now-empty locker room, Anne quickly removes her bathing suit only to have a side-door fly open to reveal a started Françoise (Warren Jacquin). Their eyes meet at, one assumes, the precise moment that Floriane and Marie make contact, and the world seems to stop as he takes her in, then quickly shuts the door.

Thus, within the first ten minutes of the film, the two feature romances are identified—that of Marie and Floriane, and, to a lesser degree, Françoise and Anne. Throughout the movie, these four characters bounce off each other, helplessly led by the ebb and flow of raging hormones.

As Marie and Floriane grow closer, a wedge forms between the Marie and Anne, as she tires of Anne’s “childishness”, emphasized by her shoplifting and adamancy to get a happy meal: “I want the toy!” she insists as Marie looks on, full of embarrassment and disapproval. In the end, it is Anne who ventures into adult sexuality first, losing her virginity to Françoise, who comes to her house after Floriane refuses to sleep with him.

Floriane’s character was especially tragic: called “a slut” because of all the male attention she receives, she defines herself by her sexuality, dancing seductively in several scenes and making out with strangers, as that is the role pushed upon her from all sides. For example, there’s this conversation between Floriane and Marie:

“FLORIANE: One day I was training alone, holding my breath under water and I saw two hairy legs appear. And…(laughing) he’d got his cock out, showing it to me. I suppose a hard-on in cold water is flattering.

MARIE: Gross

FLORIANE: That’s life. (pause) You must have stories like that. (pause, Marie looks down) Go on, tell. (pause) Really? Nothing? (pause, Floriane looks lovingly at Marie) You’re lucky, Marie. (pause) Very lucky.”

Initially in opposite roles, Anne, despite being younger and much less experienced, becomes Floriane’s guardian, stepping in and preventing her from having backseat sex after a night clubbing in one scene and “taking” her virginity in another. Marie initially refuses Floriane’s deflowering request:

“FLORIANE: I want to ask you something…not quite normal.

MARIE: Who cares about being normal?

FLORIANE: (long pause, Floriane grabs Marie’s hand) It should be you. (pause, they look into each others eyes) I would like…you to be the first. You get rid of it—remove it for me. Then it’ll be real.

MARIE: (shaking her head) I can’t do that.

FLORIANE: Please, Marie.

MARIE: (shaking her head, then softly) No (she turns and pries her hand from Floriane’s)”

Eventually, Marie agrees and, in silence, does something beneath the sheets—presumably breaks Floriane’s hymen—ridding Floriane of the barrier between who she is and who her peers assume her to be*.

As a woman watching the film, it’s impossible not to relate to at least one, or all, of the characters—Anne, the outcast still growing into her body; Marie, the underdeveloped and inexperienced; Floriane, beautiful and lacking self-identity. Watching them float and flounder, trying to come to terms with a tide of new emotions and a changing body’s demands and desires, takes you back to murky teenage years when you thought all the pressure and confusion meant you would never surface.

One of my favorite scenes is when Marie and Floriane are lying in bed, looking at the ceiling. Marie is wearing a sequined bathing suit, a gift from Floriane, over her clothes:

“MARIE: The ceiling is probably the last thing most people see. For at least 90% of people that die. For sure. And when you die, the last thing you see is printed in your eye. Like a photo. (pause) Imagine the number of people with ceilings in their eyes.

FLORIANE: (turning to look at Marie, then returning her eyes to the ceiling). Ceilings will never seem the same.”

After reviewing Water Lilies, I feel that, for me, pools might never seem the same.

*that is, a girl who has sex—to them, “a slut”