Time Folds Inward in This Unusual Family Tale

Read Time:5 Minute, 17 Second

MOVIE REVIEW
Colours of Time (La venue de l'Avenir)
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Genre: Comedy, Crime, Drama, Thriller
Year Released: 2025
Runtime: 2h 5m
Director(s): Cédric Klapisch
Writer(s): Santiago Amigorena, Cédric Klapisch
Cast: Suzanne Lindon, Abraham Wapler, Vincent Macaigne, Julia Piaton, Zinedine Soualem, Paul Kircher, Vassili Schneider, Sara Giraudeau, Cécile de France, Olivier Gourmet, Manon Villa
Where to Watch: shown at the 2025 Cannes Film Festival

RAVING REVIEW: It takes a special type of movie to do more than just tell a story—it brushes the dust off the past and places it right in your path. COLOURS OF TIME operates on that wavelength, shifting between timelines to examine the unexpected ways history stays alive in the present. This isn’t just about family heritage or history—it’s about how memory shapes identity, how the echoes of personal decisions can ripple across centuries, and how sometimes, we only find direction by walking in someone else’s footsteps.

When four distant cousins—Seb, Abdel, Céline, and Guy—inherit an older house in Normandy, the stage is set for a straightforward family inheritance drama. But instead of bickering over property rights or renovations, they stumble into something stranger and more profound. Hidden within the crumbling structure is a trail of artifacts that point them toward a woman named Adèle, an ancestor whose story shifts the entire film’s trajectory. What begins as curiosity soon becomes obsession, and through letters, photographs, and fragments of a life long gone, Adèle’s past begins to reframe their present.

The dual timelines are handled with unusual confidence. Rather than bouncing between decades to deliver exposition or force neat connections, the script, co-written by director Cédric Klapisch and Santiago Amigorena, leans into emotional resonance. Moments from the past don’t explain the present; they shadow it, challenge it, and occasionally contradict it. That subtle rhythm becomes one of the movie’s greatest strengths. It trusts the audience to make intuitive leaps and rewards those attuned to its quieter moments.

Set in 1895, Adèle’s journey through a Paris on the brink of change is steeped in artistic and social shifts. The rise of new media like photography, the surge of impressionist art, and the broader cultural upheaval all form the backdrop for her transformation. But thankfully, the film avoids romanticizing the past. Paris feels alive but imperfect, and Adèle’s experience within it feels less like a historical fantasy and more like a real person navigating a complicated world. Suzanne Lindon’s performance is measured and effective—she balances curiosity and caution, allowing Adèle’s arc to breathe.

In contrast, the “present-day” storyline offers its challenges. Guy, played with understated tension by Vincent Macaigne, stands out as the cousin most directly affected by Adèle’s reemergence. He doesn’t see the inheritance as a gift; it’s a weight he didn’t ask for. Guy remains skeptical as the others grow increasingly invested in uncovering Adèle’s story, caught between resentment and reluctant fascination. His uncertainty contrasts sharply with Adèle’s energy, and that disparity creates one of the most compelling threads: what do we do when the past feels more alive than the present?

The supporting cast—Zinedine Soualem, Paul Kircher, Vassili Schneider, Sara Giraudeau, Cécile de France, Olivier Gourmet, and Abraham Wapler—rounds out the cousins’ tangled web. The film is careful not to reduce them to stereotypes. Their differences aren’t caricatures—they’re grounded in how time, distance, and memory fracture relationships. Those fractures allow the film to explore legacy as complicated and unfinished, not easily resolved.

The film avoids the temptation to provide easy answers. Its refusal to force closure gives it staying power. It asks audiences to reflect on what it means to inherit more than just objects—how stories, silences, and even misconceptions shape our sense of who we are. There's no big reveal, no secret that unlocks everything. Instead, it’s about being willing to sit with discomfort, to question how much of our present has been ghostwritten by the past.

Robin Coudert’s score drifts in and out of scenes with just enough presence to bind the emotions together. It doesn’t overpower, but it doesn’t disappear either—just enough to remind us that emotion, like memory, isn’t always linear.

COLOURS OF TIME isn’t for everyone. It doesn’t rush to impress. Instead, it unfolds on its terms, challenging viewers to meet it halfway. The film’s structure might be unconventional, but its heart is clear. It’s less concerned with resolution and more interested in reflection. What we inherit is only part of the story. What we do with it—that’s where things start to get interesting.

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[photo courtesy of STUDIOCANAL, CE QUI ME MEUT, LA COMPAGNIE, CINÉMATOGRAPHIQUE, PANACHE, PRODUCTIONS]

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