Much like Adam Driver’s ubiquity in American auteur cinema, there comes a moment when one realises that seemingly every French auteur is working with Vincent Macaigne. From Dominik Moll to Antonin Peretjatko, and from the beloved Justine Triet to Emmanuel Mouret—even in Maria, directed by Pablo Larraín—Macaigne has become the quintessential representation of middle-aged French men. It’s hardly surprising, then, to see him embody Olivier Assayas himself in Suspended Time, following their collaborations on the 2022 TV series Irma Vep and the 2018 film Doubles vies.
Suspended Time, conceived as a semi-autobiographical reflection of Olivier Assayas’s lockdown experience, opens with a poetic and nostalgic voiceover delivered by the filmmaker himself. This introduction sets the tone for a film that unfolds like autobiographical prose poetry. Assayas invites viewers into the Chevreuse Valley near Paris, where his parents’ countryside house—both a narrative focal point and the actual filming location—becomes the heart of the story. Through his voiceover, he paints vivid pictures of the surrounding town and region, neighbouring homes, and the house itself, filled with furniture, art, books, and gardens. Each detail is imbued with the memories of his late parents and grandparents, as well as the shared childhood he experienced with his brother.
The narrative is a fictionalised version of Assayas’s life, with Vincent Macaigne portraying Paul, a filmmaker forced into quarantine with his brother, Etienne (Micha Lescot), a music journalist—a clear nod to Assayas’s real-life brother, Michka. They are joined by Paul’s girlfriend, Morgane (Nine D’Urso), and Etienne’s partner, Carole (Nora Hamzawi). Through Zoom calls, Paul also reconnects with his ex-partner Flavia (Maud Wyler), an apparent stand-in for Mia Hansen-Løve, discussing their lives and their daughter Britt—a dynamic that also depicted in Hansen-Løve’s own cinematic exploration Bergman Island.
The interactions within the house are both mundane and deeply revealing, capturing the heightened trivialities and tensions of lockdown life. Vincent Macaigne, with his signature chaotic energy, injects a dynamic unpredictability into the film, making even the simplest moments is filled with comedic charm. The brothers bicker over everything: shopping strategies, Amazon orders, film volume, COVID precautions, revenge buying, capitalism, and even culinary mishaps like burned pans and strawberries.
As the film concludes with Paul leaving his share of the house to Britt, it’s difficult to determine whether Assayas aims to delve into deeper thematic exploration. Yet, the film retains its charm as a playful exercise in autofiction. Through his voiceover, paired with real locations, his grandfather’s paintings, and photos from his actual thesis, Assayas blurs the lines between reality and fiction. Maybe just to confuse us, he refers to his brother as Etienne instead of Michka in his own voiceover, subtly blending personal memory with narrative invention.
The film also reflects on Assayas’s own creative process, including a self-aware nod to an abandoned project featuring Kristen Stewart—his muse from Clouds of Sils Maria and Personal Shopper—as a Portuguese nun. The film is brimming with references to bands, singers, filmmakers, and artists, to the point where even Morgane quips, “Stop mentioning David Hockney!” This cascade of intellectual and cultural allusions, combined with Assayas’s almost self-indulgent playfulness, creates a film that is both pleasing and entertaining. It resists logical dissection, inviting the audience to revel in its wit and intellectual mischief instead.
Well, the only question that remains is: who is play a version of the divine Maggie Cheung—his ex-wife, the star of the original Irma Vep film, and the muse he seems unable to forget?
© Sandra Weller / Berlinale 2024
