Tomboy
DIRECTED BY CÉLINE SCIAMMA
Tomboy, the sophomore feature by writer-director Céline Sciamma, confronts the construction of gender with an astute frankness reminiscent of the films of Catherine Breillat. But where Breillat demonstrates a provocative preoccupation with feminine sexuality, Sciamma’s latest is a sensitive sketch of a pre-pubescent persona in flux.
The subject of that sketch is newcomer Zoé Héran, who, as an uncannily androgynous ten-year-old named Laure, gives one of the year’s outstanding performances. Héran’s turn is the sort of seamless portrayal that makes it difficult to conceive of character and actor as discreet personalities—a sensation amplified by Héran’s profoundly ambiguous face, flat-chested figure, and close-cropped hair. Not only is it tricky to discern where Héran ends and Laure begins, it’s also all too easy to forget that she is, in fact, female, particularly after she introduces herself to a prospective playmate in her new apartment block as “Mikael.”
Laure’s assertion of masculinity goes unquestioned by her neighbour, Lisa, a pretty girl of Laure’s age who has made greater progress toward physical maturity. Lisa presents Laure/Mikael to the other local kids as “the new boy in the building,” and much to Laure’s delight, she quickly becomes one of the guys. Only Lisa bats an eyelid when Laure sheds her baggy top for a shirts vs. skins soccer match—not because she’s sussed Luare’s true sex, but out of admiration at Laure’s prowess. Laure, in turn, happily reciprocates Lisa’s innocent advances, though Sciamma declines to indicate whether Laure’s satisfaction is a manifestation of a burgeoning same-sex attraction, or whether she’s merely marvelling at the apparent credibility of her male identity.
What is clear, however, is that Laure won’t be able to sustain her pretense indefinitely, despite her resourceful efforts to reinforce her alter ego in the presence of her peers, and to hide it from her parents. This inevitability lends Tomboy an anxious air, even as Sciamma captures the natural exuberance of Laure and her new friends at play. Despite the ample evidence that Laure is happiest, and most comfortable, as Mikael, Sciamma plays to our implicit awareness that Laure’s ruse represents a significant social transgression. Happily, Sciamma isn’t interested in Boys Don’t Cry–style melodrama, and Tomboy is ultimately less tragic than tender. Most importantly, thanks in large part to the phenomenal Héran, it rings affectingly true.