Pity the fool who underestimates one of Claire Denis’ “small” films that she tends to make while waiting for the financing to come together on her bigger projects. We did it with the astonishing Let the Sunshine In, which she made ahead of existential sci-fi epic, High Life, and we did it again with Both Sides of the Blade, which was produced before her long-gestating Denis Johnson adaptation, The Stars at Noon.

Both of these “small” films were made in collaboration with writer and novelist Christine Angot, and it’s hard to think of a more perfect merging of ideals and sensitivities than these two. The word “small” appears in scare quotes because it only refers to the scope of the production: this film was made during the pandemic and is essentially a three-person emotional roundelay which takes place in various cold Parisian domiciles and offices.

In terms of is philosophical reach and harrowing insight, this is a blockbuster-sized picture. It is about the brutal velocity with which love can suddenly dissolve in front of us. But it also goes further and asks whether a love that can dissolve really deserves the nomenclature. The film convincingly proposes that humans are built with the capacity to love only one person, and the act of trying to move on usually leads to a state of confusion that verges on the malevolent.

First, a scene of extreme tactile tenderness (a Denis trademark), as Jean (Vincent Lindon) and Sara (Juliette Binoche) canoodle in a far-flung lagoon, disconnected from the tumult of their daily lives. A return to urban normalcy suggests that this a romantic connection that is slightly strained by the toils of domestic drudgery, but also accepts that this is normal for any couple with long-term relationship goals.

Sara then spots old flame François (Grégoire Colin) and instantly she implodes. Externally, she’s just about able to keep it together with the dependable but slightly effete Jean, but internally she’s melting away, singularly focused on placing herself in François’ eyeline in the hope that she can see if he too is blighted by the heady curse of romantic fanaticism.

The ensemble sparks off one another to sell this idea, while Denis and Agnot work hard to embed the concept within the drama. Lindon’s forlorn cuckold makes for a fine companion to his father-on-the-verge-of-a-nervous-breakdown in Julia Ducournau’s Titane, while Binoche delivers gold as a character whose brutal sense of practicality should make her the film’s villain, but she most definitely isn’t. Colin, meanwhile, does a lot with a little, his one big scene almost unwatchable in its grim subordination. There was never a question of whether this would be a great movie, but the pleasant surprise is that it is, in fact, a very great one.

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