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In France, before WWI. As every Sunday, an old painter living in the country is visited by his son Gonzague, coming with his wife and his three children. Then his daugther Irene arrives. She is always in a hurry, she lives alone and does not come so often... An intimist chronicle in which what is not shown, what is guessed, is more important than how it looks, dealing with what each character expects of life.Written by
This movie is a wonderful capsule memory that I can show to my children and grandchildren on how it was before television was a staple of the family room.
We would go every other Sunday to visit some elderly relatives' in my case my oldest Grandmother and her older husband. There would be a garden where we would run free and then a 'gouter' which would serve more delicious puddings and more games outside in the summer.
In winter days, we would be allowed to play inside in the attic. And it was just like Tavernier house: old photographs, older furniture, costumes from long gone great great grandfathers and fans and feathered hair pieces. The Kaiser would be a bogeyman and a never met granduncle would still be a dashing officer before becoming a casualty.
I suspect TAVERNIER enjoyed similar quiet days. And the maid... yes these were the days where maids belonged. They could be the secret heart beat of the house. Grandma's maid was Julie and there was a gardener whose name I have forgotten.
Though totally different, it is the right vibration for Marcel Proust: In search of lost time : in the shadow of budding maids. Atime of innocence, gentleness; when regrets were bittersweet and accepted with grace.
What can I say more: I envy you because you are going to discover it.
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