«Gloria mundi» in tenderness and sorrow

Gloria Mundi. The child's name is Gloria. First breath, first cry. In the sacred silence of a miracle in progress. Welcome to an existence where the glory of the world can be tasted in tenderness and sorrow.

It’s a joyous occasion. Gloria is the first child of Mathilda (Anaïs Demoustier) and Nicolas (Robinson Stévenin). Smiles, outpourings of joy, visitors. Life is in full bloom; champagne flows freely. The whole family is together. Sylvie (Ariane Ascaride), a new grandmother; Richard (Jean-Pierre Darroussin), now grandpa; Aunt Aurore (Lola Naymark), who seems proud of her sister, and her husband Bruno (Grégoire Leprince-Ringuet).

Vice and Poetry

A family reunited, but divided: Aurore is jealous of her sister, who is actually only her half-sister. And then there’s the little girl’s biological grandfather, Daniel (Gérard Meylan), who’s been in prison since Mathilda was born—a child he’s never really known. So Sylvie writes to her ex-partner in prison to tell him the news. As fate would have it, Daniel is released a few days later. He reconnects easily with Sylvie, but has a harder time bonding with Mathilda. With Gloria, it’s love at first sight the moment they meet. Gloria Mundi is a drama that chronicles a few months in the life of this quasi-blended but undeniably divided family, mired in problems with work, money, and vice. All wrapped up in poetry.

Robert Guédiguian has directed a masterpiece. I have no other words to describe it. Emotion resonates in the hearts of viewers from the very first scene. Masterful! And at the end, you leave the theater in tears. I’ve been there. The director has brought together so much talent in his film. The poetry he brings to it nourishes the entire feature film. The power of the social issue brings a lump to your throat. The philosophical truth shines through. The beauty of the images captures the gaze—both tender and indignant. The actors move you deeply with their subtle and compelling performances.

A performance brimming with emotion

The excellent Anaïs Demoustier hits the mark, as usual. Robinson Stévenin, though less well-known, displays a surprising sensitivity. The same goes for the actor playing Aurore, who is perfectly hateful, and the one playing Bruno, who is terribly torn. As for Jean-Pierre Darroussin, he has nothing left to prove: his acting is always deeply evocative.

This magnificent cast certainly deserves special mention for Gérard Meylan, in his role as Daniel, the grandfather and former convict, and especially for Ariane Ascardie, who plays the young grandmother Sylvie and won the award for Best Actress in Venice. He brings depth to the film’s poetic dimension; she to its social dimension. Daniel, a tough man scarred by life, finds new life through Gloria’s eyes. Sylvie, equally scarred, walks with dignity, courage, and strength, head held high, through financial and social hardships. A petite lady in stature, but a grand lady at heart. She is etched in my memory.

The message, for its part, is simple. The only real glory in this world, …is to give life. The only true beauty is gazing into the distance with a child in your arms. To carry on the generations for salvation. Generations that are, moreover, at odds over values: Is having children a flaw, an obstacle to success? But what kind of success are we talking about? Money, always money? The kind that leads us astray? The kind we turn into white powder to manage to swallow life—or rather, to snort it. Poetic and self-evident, Dostoevsky’s phrase is confirmed in Gloria Mundi: «Beauty will save the world.»

With time

Beauty that shines through in the music of the brilliant Michel Petrossian, who composed the film’s soundtrack. Explosive in the sense of what it conveys, it becomes humble and discreet in the piano passages. Beauty in the cinematography, which pierces with its light, but also dares to focus on the street, its trash cans, its graffiti, its streets, its roads, its buses, its people, and its cries—all to bring the world of the poor to life in all its authenticity.

And then there’s time. «As time goes by, everything fades away.» Except childhood. It restores meaning to this society that resonates with the bells of absurdity. Childhood, which teaches that the only possible legacy lies in the sacrifice of oneself. To give one’s life for one’s friends. For one’s family. To give one’s life so that history does not repeat itself. To give one’s life to find it again. To give one’s life in tenderness and in sorrow. To give one’s life for Gloria.

No matter how hard I tried to pull the hands off my watch, time wouldn't stop.