By Peg Aloi

The Truth is simply a delightful film all around.

The Truth (La verité), directed by Hirokazu Kore-eda. Streaming on Amazon Prime.

Catherine Deneuve as Fabienne and Juliette Binoche as Lumir in The Truth (La Vérité).

In The Truth (La verité), the new film by Hirokazu Kore-eda (whose 2018 arthouse smash Shoplifters still resonates as one of the decade’s best films), we are gifted with Catherine Deneuve playing a middle-aged actress confronting what may be the end of her successful career. On the eve of the release of her new memoirs, Fabienne Dangeville has invited her daughter Lumir (Juliette Binoche) and son-in-law Hank (Ethan Hawke) to come visit her in Paris. They bring their young daughter Charlotte (Clémentine Grenier). On its face, the visit is intended to be a celebration of Fabienne’s book, but we soon see a scattershot psychodrama played out, one that dredges up moments of pain and anger for both mother and daughter.

The film begins with an overhead shot of trees, filled with early autumnal color, in the backyard of a large house in Paris. We glimpse a subway train through a gap in the trees. It is Fabienne’s home, which she currently shares with her lover Jacques (Christian Crahay), a chef, and her longtime personal assistant Luc (Alain Libolt, who is in one of my favorite films, Jean-Gabriel Albicocco’s The Wanderer). Luc is in his 60s, quiet and polite. There are suggestions that the intimate chemistry he shares with Fabienne has had its difficult moments over the years. He attends to her every need, arranging her driver, keeping her on schedule, and pointing out when she’s had a bit too much to drink.

Lumir (the similarity of her name to Lumière, the French brothers credited with inventing cinema, is telling) is a screenwriter, and Hank is an actor about to embark on a new project after a string of flops. The daughter’s manner in her mother’s presence is subdued; clearly there are things left unspoken. Still, she doesn’t hold back from reminding Fabienne of her past misbehavior. This is especially true when she finally gets hold of her mother’s memoir and discovers that it romanticizes her childhood and paints Fabienne as a caring mother in ways she was not. Loyal Luc also reads it, and is offended to find he is not mentioned in it once. Fabienne, far from being compelled to do any soul-searching, is merely irritated by these reproaches.

At the same time that her memoir is being released, Fabienne is also working on a new film. It’s an unusual futuristic story that features a woman who has cancer who spends time in outer space as a way to halt the decline of her body. She periodically returns to earth to visit her daughter, who continues to age as her mother remains youthful. This intriguing metaphor (fantasy) ricochets nicely against the filial tensions playing out between Fabienne and Lumir. In the film-within-a-film (entitled Memories of My Mother), Fabienne has been cast as the daughter, who is 73. The veteran performer is disdainful of the small part, critical of the writing, and a bit of a handful during read-throughs and shooting. But the director, crew, and fellow actors defer to her fame and seniority. Manon, the actress cast as the mother (played by Manon Clavel), is a rising star whose beauty and talent recalls that of a young Fabienne. Though there is one important distinction: she is a physical doppelganger for Sarah, a friend of Fabienne’s who is now deceased. Fabienne was in frequent competition with Sarah, not only for film roles, but for her daughter’s affections. Manon is enamored with the veteran star’s luminous career, and sweetly deferential, which makes her resemblance to Sarah all the more confounding.

Meanwhile, things are in considerable disarray at Fabienne’s house. Her housekeeper quit some weeks earlier and Luc threatens to leave also, hurt by his absence in the memoir. Knowing how reliant her mother is on Luc, Lumir is worried. She is understandably reluctant to leave New York to live with her mother. Hank is good-natured, but Fabienne’s manipulative energy seems to conjure up demons that test his recovering sobriety. Charming daughter Charlotte, who shows signs of wanting to be a performer herself, seems to be unfazed by the adults’ problems. She is an innocent part of the small dramas unfolding around her, yet she appears to have a sophisticated awareness of all that’s happening. With her honey-colored hair, natural beauty, and observant nature, she seems to be a pint-sized version of Fabienne; perhaps this is intended as an ironic commentary on the older performer’s frequent references to her youthful triumphs. Lumir’s easy relationship with her daughter is juxtaposed with the tense connection she has with Fabienne. Yet, there are moments when Lumir and and her mother’s breezy banter belies the barrier between them.

The Truth is simply a delightful film all around. Director Hirokazu Kore-eda creates a realistic vibe, a delicious feeling that we are being given insider access to the lives of glamorous people. Particularly moving: the scenes that show the mercurial and demanding work of acting. It helps that Deneuve, Binoche, and Hawke are actors of high caliber and remarkable gifts. They are playing (perhaps) versions of themselves in a parallel world, where constant awareness of one’s aging body, of hard-won achievements, and painful failures are “truths” that are not just fodder for a judgmental public and media, but the very things determining how we love and are loved in return.

Peg Aloi is a former film critic for the Boston Phoenix and member of the Boston Society of Film Critics. She taught film studies in Boston for over a decade. She writes on film, TV, and culture for web publications like Vice, Polygon, Bustle, Mic, Orlando Weekly, Crooked Marquee, and Bloody Disgusting. Her blog “The Witching Hour” can be found at themediawitch.com.