In “Love Letters,” writer-director Alice Douard crafts a heartfelt, sharply observed, and quietly radical film about love, motherhood, and the deeply personal intersections of identity and legality.
Set in France in 2014 (shortly after the legalization of same-sex marriage), the film follows Céline (Ella Rumpf), a woman preparing to become a mother through the legal, emotional, and societal journey of adoption. Her wife Nadia (Monia Chokri) is pregnant with their daughter, but Céline must navigate a complex bureaucratic process to be recognized as a parent.
What could easily have become a grim procedural drama is instead lifted by Douard’s light touch and deft use of comedy. There’s humor in Céline’s increasingly absurd efforts to gather testimony affirming her maternal competence. These scenes are often funny not because of the characters themselves, but because of the systems they’re forced to work within. In one standout moment, a friend’s awkward attempt to explain Céline’s readiness for motherhood turns into an unintentionally hilarious courtroom monologue. Thankfully, the comedy isn’t mocking, but is warm, humanizing, and filled with affection. This is a comedy that’s peppered with kindness, and that matters.
Douard’s decision to structure the film around the stages of a legal process is smartly realized, highlighting how the personal often becomes political for LGBTQ+ families. The film accurately captures the struggle that women like Céline often face, be it with herself, her mother’s expectations, or her own evolving definition of what it means to be a good mother.
Chokri and Rumpf deliver two quite extraordinary performances. Both women bring quiet strength and emotional nuance to their roles, making Céline and Nadia’s relationship feel lived-in and deeply relatable. Their chemistry is tender and real, particularly as they wrestle with the fears and uncertainties of first-time parenthood. It’s a portrait of a marriage that’s ordinary yet not, and it’s one filled with doubts, love, small missteps, and immense resilience.
Where many LGBTQ+ stories are centered on struggle and sorrow, this film seems to have an affinity for joy. Douard chooses to focus her story on hope, humor, and the everyday beauty of building a life together. It doesn’t ignore the systemic barriers or emotional toll, but it chooses to infuse the narrative with warmth and optimism (which is arguably very much needed in the current climate).
All of this makes “Love Letters” a deeply relatable, subtly political film that speaks to a broad audience. It’s a celebration of chosen family, love in all its forms, and the courage it takes to claim your place in the world. By centering joy and realism in equal measure, it offers not only representation but resonance and perhaps, as Céline herself hopes, it might even change a few hearts along the way.
By: Louisa Moore
Screen Zealots 