Johanne and Françoise craft a multifaceted film, one that is dual-edged, both restrained and gentle; tenderness mixed with a bite. Beneath the banality of everyday life lies a wealth of contained emotions.

A good day, sometimes, is just that: managing to get up, get dressed, step outside, let the children go, take a moment for oneself, and avoid drowning. Drinking too much, seeking forgetfulness, feeling disgusted; becoming aware of this state in order to overcome it. How does one emerge from malaise? What anchors us to life? When we finally have a moment to ourselves, how do we fill it?

The camera remains discreet, gradually leading us to identify with this woman, revealed to us in small glimpses. Starting with her feet, we enter an intimate moment, following her routine step by step. Staging this moment of indecision over what to wear by fragmenting the body distances us from the "male gaze"; this is not about desire tied to the body choosing its clothes, but about a connection to a person with whom we identify, reflecting the mindset of choosing an appearance for the day. What influences our choices? Or whom? "My asphalt eyes, my mustache, my disgusting mouth": the woman's gaze pierces us; her choice is made, her armor is on.

Outside her gaze, young girls seize the discarded clothes and stray makeup. They dress up and adorn themselves; getting dressed is a game, the fabrics serve only a playful purpose. Yet they whisper: they "don’t disturb."

Skillfully, the filmmakers provide us with keys through a parallel montage of glances between the woman and the girl. What is their connection? Mother and daughter? Present and past? Present and future? It is up to us to invent the answer.

This film is constructed around the gaze: a gaze upon oneself and a gaze that pierces through. A call for help or an accusation? A plea for hope, a plea for love. The film concludes with a smile, almost a laugh, serene.

Anne-Marie Bouchard
Filmmaker