One Woman’s Second Act

Read Time:5 Minute, 8 Second

MOVIE REVIEW
Rose (Blu-ray)
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Genre: Comedy, Drama
Year Released: 2021, Kino Lorber Blu-ray 2025
Runtime: 1h 43m
Director(s): Aurélie Saada
Writer(s): Aurélie Saada, Yaël Langmann
Cast: Françoise Fabian, Aure Atika, Gregory Montel, Damien Chapelle, Pascal Elbé
Language: French with English subtitles
Where To Watch: available now, order your copy here: www.kinolorber.com or www.amazon.com

RAVING REVIEW: Sometimes, the most affecting character arcs come from whispers rather than declarations. ROSE is one of those rare films that doesn’t reach for grandeur or spectacle but builds its emotional depth with calm confidence. In doing so, it tells a deeply human story that finds beauty in the everyday and power in personal rediscovery.

At its heart, ROSE follows a woman in her late seventies who unexpectedly finds herself reintroduced to life’s complications after her husband's death. But this isn’t about tragedy—it’s about rebirth. The narrative doesn’t force her through sweeping change; instead, it invites us to watch her take slow, steady steps toward understanding who she is when no one else is defining her anymore. What starts as a soft meditation on loss becomes a refreshingly grounded tale about personal autonomy.

The film opens with a lively gathering for her husband’s birthday—a sequence that acts as a narrative overture. There’s music, chatter, and a curated comfort that feels like a staged ritual we’ve all seen before. Yet beneath this cheery surface lies an undercurrent of unspoken tension. When medical concerns quietly suggest that something darker looms, it’s clear that this seemingly happy event is doubling as an emotional prelude. Rather than dwelling on death, the film lets it quietly open the door to something unexpected: the possibility of transformation.

What sets ROSE apart is how it embraces change without making a spectacle of it. After her husband passes, she doesn’t hop on a plane or chase a bucket list. Instead, she begins reconnecting with herself, asking what she enjoys and misses and has never allowed herself to try. Her first drink alone, her first cigarette, and her first flirtation in decades are not considered rebellious acts but deeply personal milestones. It’s this intimacy that gives the story its emotional power.

A huge part of that impact is thanks to Françoise Fabian, who carries the film with a performance about presence rather than pronouncement. She doesn’t need theatricality to convey emotion. With quiet facial shifts, how she holds her body, or how long she lingers in a glance, Fabian makes the character’s journey feel honest and lived-in. You don’t see her transform—you feel it together, piece by piece.

This nuanced tone is reinforced by director Aurélie Saada, who is making her debut with striking restraint. Instead of crowding the film with exposition or melodrama, she allows her lead the space to evolve. Saada also composed the score herself, a decision that could have easily felt indulgent but was a perfect fit. The music soars through the narrative with subtle grace, growing with the character and amplifying her emotional shifts without overpowering them.

One of the film’s strongest points is how it explores aging and intimacy without falling into stereotypes. A subplot involving a younger man could have easily become a joke or a cliché. Instead, it’s handled with care, offering an honest portrayal of emotional risk and desire at an age when society tends to look away. The discomfort expressed by her children isn’t cartoonish, but it does underscore the limits we place on older people, especially women when it comes to romance and independence.

However, that same attention isn’t always given to the supporting characters. The subplots involving her adult children—each with their own messy lives—feel more like footnotes than meaningful reflections. They’re sketched out just enough to create contrast but not enough to feel fully realized. This becomes more apparent when the narrative cuts away from its lead to check in on these other arcs, creating brief but noticeable dips in engagement.

The overall experience is quietly impactful. ROSE offers a rare honesty about the intersections of grief, identity, and age. It doesn’t need to shout its message because it trusts that viewers will understand the stakes through small gestures and earned emotions. This kind of confidence feels refreshing in a landscape often obsessed with fast-paced spectacle.

This film doesn't aim to redefine storytelling or shock you with twists. Instead, it provides something more lasting: a portrait of gentle, moving, and empowering change. It invites audiences to reconsider when life begins—and reminds us that stories don’t lose value just because the world stops paying attention. ROSE offers a quiet clarity worth celebrating for those willing to slow down and watch closely.

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[photo courtesy of KINO LORBER]

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