'The Nature of Love' brings little to the table
Music Box
Relationships are complicated and emotions are messy and just because one movie addresses the topic a certain way doesn’t mean that every other movie has to say, “Well, guess that’s been resolved.” It hasn’t, and never will be.
Yet “The Nature of Love” feels like such a duplication of the insights of “Take This Waltz,” while also struggling to even engage its own ideas, that it borders on pointless.
Long committed to intellectually engaging but otherwise underwhelming Xavier (Francis-William Rheaume), Sophie (Magalie Lepine Blondeau) discovers new life and intertwined feelings of lust and love through Sylvain (Pierre-Yves Cardinal), a contractor who is less educated and more skilled at stimulating her everywhere but her mind. How long will it take her to succumb to temptation? (Not long). Will this teacher who often discusses classic philosophers and ancient, poetic theories about love (real subtle, this movie) learn anything about the battle between old and new, comfort and the unknown? (Not really.) Does writer-director Monia Chokri seem to think this is the first time a story has featured characters overwhelmed by their feelings who are navigating communication challenges and unseen narcissism? (Very much so.)
There’s no question that “The Nature of Love” captures the power of the unexpected, of how suddenly a perfect storm of feeling and attraction might carry someone away and mask other problems or motivations underneath. But Chokri presents too much of Sophia and Sylvain’s time together in montage so there’s little sense of if there’s any substance here, never fully letting us experience the quickly moving relationship as Sophia does. One element that distinguishes the Quebec-set “Nature” from the Toronto-set “Waltz” is how Chokri refers to discomfort about the Trump era and the ongoing uncertainty and fear that is life in North America. Yet the movie is hardly a clashing between how social instability might advance short-term impulses and what happens when longer-term recognition of real compatibility sinks in. Rather, this is just another case of the physical overwhelming the emotional, which speaks volumes about connection but also leaves a familiar reckoning in its wake.
No matter how artfully done “The Nature of Love” might appear to be, this is less a thought-provoking deconstruction of human folly than a Nicholas Sparks saga with more muted tones and deliberate editing. Ignore anyone calling it a rom-com; this is reheated yet undercooked late-night Showtime drama, neither funny nor romantic, and not much more worthwhile than hiking directly into a tree.
C
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