Colette (2018)

Colette is presented as a meticulously crafted monument to creative defiance. We observe Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette navigating the gilded cage of late nineteenth-century Paris, a woman whose genius is initially reduced to a function of her husband’s literary enterprise. The narrative charts her slow, deliberate migration from a provincial ghostwriter to a recognized author. This film operates less as a straightforward biography and more as a carefully calibrated statement on female autonomy within a male-dominated artistic sphere. The effort to frame her journey as an explicit liberation story is palpable, though the execution occasionally leans into a self-conscious theatricality.

The film achieves its most striking resonance in its progressive sensibilities. The central conflict is defined by Colette’s refusal to be a mere puppet, an assertion of self that extends to her personal life. Her relationships with women like Georgie Raoul-Duval and Missy are treated as crucial, defining beats of her character arc. This narrative gives substantial weight to themes of queer life and artistic independence. We see a decent critique of the exploitative dynamics between the writer and the publisher, even if the film refuses to broaden its focus to systemic issues of labor or class. The visual style is undeniably polished, a hallmark of its commitment to the aesthetic of the period.

Where the film falls short is in its thematic ambition beyond the personal. The narrative remains anchored in a singular, overwhelmingly white European milieu. We find little critical engagement with broader social structures, whether regarding race or economic inequality, which keeps the film from achieving a more comprehensive cultural commentary. It is a sophisticated study of personal agency, yet it is constrained by its historical geography and a clear, well-meaning directorial agenda. It is a capable piece of historical drama, even if it is somewhat predictable in its insistence upon its own moral clarity.