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My love: a moving documentary [critique]

My love: a moving documentary [critique]

An intimate fresco of almost 3 hours, as confusing as it is bewitching, between Paris and Siberia, around an impossible mourning.

To talk about yourself, sometimes you have to go far. This is David Teboul’s mantra (A life elsewhere) in this documentary where he splits the armor, without making the viewer a voyeur. Teboul madly loved a man, Frédéric Luzy, documentary producer, who died on December 16, 2007, shortly after their breakup. A disappearance that has since never meant to haunt him, plagued by guilt for not having been able to save him. The starting point of this documentary and of a journey – literally and figuratively – to try to mourn a priori impossible as we understand from the opening of My love where we discover the last SMS sent by Luzy just before his disappearance, exposing the malaise that devoured him. On the screen, Teboul will therefore deploy his story in a double gesture. On the one hand, he traces the thread of this tumultuous love story through images that he accompanies with his voice full of imperfections, stammering, giving this logorrhea a truth that we feel physically, all that a more articulate speech would have been unable to express. On the other, a trip to Siberia where from village to village, he collects the confidences of their inhabitants on the way in which they live their often long-term love stories, in these places so harsh and Spartan. Through this seemingly artificial double movement, Teboul creates a work of astonishing fluidity, where one takes pleasure in abandoning oneself. He makes his intimate story a universal story about love passion and the difficulty of recovering from it when the end word appears. Autofiction at its best.

By David Teboul. Duration: 2h54. Released June 15, 2022

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