Love Me If You Dare

The thing I love most about this movie – besides Marion Cotillard – is its unapologetic willingness to surpass reality with whimsical imagery or a hyper-existence where the depths of emotion match or surpass the rich hues of the film. Visually stunning special effects and fantasy sequences tug at heartstrings because they show and illustrate the feelings that language is so inept at describing. In an age of self-talk, Dr. Phil, Nicholas Sparks’ novels, and the watered down emotional pandering of the Hollywood romance, Love Me If You Dare is at once bracing and deliciously, wickedly refreshing. Love Me If You Dare forces Sophie and Julien to confront our greatest fears and our dearest wishes… and the truth at the heart of it all: love.

When we first meet Sophie and Julien they are eight-year-old classmates with fractured hearts and matching mischievous tendencies.  From the start, their relationship is built on the desire to give obstructed by the fear of loss. Julien would give his carousel tin to Sophie, but he fears losing it forever, and asks if he may borrow it sometimes. Sophie is quick to anger, but somehow she understands. Why else would she offer to give it back when Julien gives her proof of his affection? And so the game of Dares evolves, progresses, and while the children pass the tin back and forth, they give their hearts as well. Of course, as the years go by, the stakes are raised; new rules, expectations, and complications interfere with their game.

I can’t say I fully understand what defines good child actors, but I believe there are two wonderful ones in this film. At least Yann Samuel was able to cultivate dynamic performances from his young Julien and Sophie, perfectly in sync with their older counterparts. Thibault Verhaeghe is a rambunctious child and proud boy who loves his mother – the same as the man that Guillaume Canet shows him grown up to be. Joséphine Lebas-Joly perfectly depicts an outsider who finds pleasure in control, which begins with grade school misdeeds and grows into the manipulation of men (a beautiful and tortured Marion Cotillard). So brazen are our main characters that their depicted behavior challenges us in our proclamations of love, and dares us to mean it when we say, “I love you,” or “I can’t live without you.”

I’ve heard complaint that the movie features unlikeable, unredeeming characters; I don’t believe any of these critics have seen beyond the surface actions and occasional hurt to the motivations behind them. One reviewer pointed out that Sophie is unable to say “I love you,” a revelation of fact that explains so much of what she says and does (or doesn’t say and doesn’t do). Julien, on the other hand, seems incapable of saying “I’m sorry.” The montage near the end of the film says so much about how Sophie and Julien could benefit from the integration of these two phrases in their lives.

“I’m sorry.”

“I love you.”

 “Cap ou pas cap?”