Amélie No More: Audrey Tautou’s Fatal Attraction in French Psycho-Thriller ‘He Loves Me… He Loves Me Not’
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One tagline for He Loves Me… He Loves Me Not (À la folie… pas du tout) reads: “Is she crazy in love, or just crazy?” In what appears to be a standard film d’amour, Audrey Tautou’s character Angélique is a woman in love with love. She has been swept up in a whirlwind romance like no other. The longer the story goes on though, it becomes very clear something is amiss. Beyond the honeymoon stage lies a disturbing reality about Angélique’s infatuation.
Lætitia Colombani’s 2002 film opens with its enamored protagonist sending her sweetheart a token of her affection; an early birthday present consisting of a single rose and a love note. Angélique’s sunny disposition endures as she wins an art scholarship at school, which requires her to complete a series of paintings over the summer. Good news indeed, but Angélique’s main concern right now is only making her new beau happy.
Angélique’s bliss comes with certain caveats, including the fact that her sweetheart is actually married with a baby on the way. Best friend Héloïse (Sophie Guillemin) tries to convince Angélique to move on if a child is involved, but Audrey Tautou’s character is resolute. Just as things begin to fall apart in quick succession, Angélique is convinced she can make this relationship work. Even if that means sacrificing everything — and everyone — to get what she wants.
Going into the film with no notion of things to come is ideal, but spoilers are unavoidable when approaching such a tangled story. The sinister truth trickles out as Angélique starts to spiral. As utterly heartbroken as she is, Angélique evades wallowing in favor of removing the physical obstacles in her way. A damaged scooter, a bloody elbow, a bump on the head; all these events raise suspicions about the lengths Angélique will go to to stay in love.
By changing the point of view partway through, Colombani’s film promptly goes from romantic to frightening. Now the audience sees the story from the perspective of the suitor. Or as it turns out, the victim. Dr. Loïc Le Garrec (Samuel Le Bihan) receives a single rose with an anonymous note: “My heart is forever yours.” He assumes the gift is from his wife Rachel (Isabelle Carré), but he later realizes he has a secret admirer. Loïc suspects one of his patients, namely a woman always eager to get her top off so the doctor can examine her. He fails to consider Audrey Tautou’s Angélique though, the woman staying at his neighbor’s house while they are away on vacation.
He Loves Me… He Loves Me Not is a great example of the unreliable narrator. The protagonist’s credibility comes into question as the story unfolds. The audience has no reason to doubt Angélique’s intentions from the first moment they meet her. Not a sign of villainy is in sight early on as she pursues love in every corner of her life; be it art or with Loïc. At first Colombani presents Angélique’s viewpoint with the same sort of enthusiasm and charm so prevalent in starry-eyed romance stories. She masks the uncomfortable actuality with passionate colors, affectionate music, and contagious sentimentality. By the thirty-minute mark, everything changes when a trip to Florence falls through. The catching euphoria from earlier is now replaced with dangerous obsession.
Regarding the plot turn, Colombani and co-writer Caroline Thivel do not pull the rug out from viewers so much as they make small tugs along the way. Even before shifting to Loïc’s outlook, it is increasingly clear Angélique’s adoration is unhealthy and at many times volatile. She has already confessed to one misdeed while another is all but confirmed until Loïc’s half of the story comes into view. This is when He Loves Me… He Loves Me Not unquestionably falls into erotomania territory.
Like almost anything else adapted for the screen, erotomania is exaggerated for effect. Also known as de Clérambault’s Syndrome or psychose passionnelle, erotomania is a starting point for psychosexual thrillers like Play Misty for Me, Fatal Attraction, and The Crush. In the grand scheme, these films do more harm than good when discussing this condition. They play up the sexual and violent elements for amusement and shock value while glossing over the psychology.
Meanwhile, He Loves Me… He Loves Me Not is generally regarded as a more accurate depiction of erotomania. Like many textbook cases, youth and sexual inexperience impel someone like Angélique toward Loïc, an older man whose class and unavailability are never seen as hindrances. In addition, Angélique’s fixation is fueled by either benign interactions or her imagination. Whatever little contact the parties do have is then misread as declarations of love.
Erotomania films often hide the patient’s pathos beneath layers of blackmail, sex, and stalking. The object of obsession is usually preyed on after a regretful tryst, then alienated through whatever means necessary. Their closest friends and family are systematically attacked, or their lives are blown up. Whereas with Angélique, she never premeditates or acts maliciously despite her committing heinous acts against Loïc’s wife and anyone else standing in her way. She tends to react in the moment under the belief that everything she is doing is for Loïc and their future together. Angélique’s behavior ultimately comes across as unnervingly authentic and not something drummed up only for the audience’s perverse pleasure.
Colombani’s film is a plausible romantic-thriller that never resists the urge to entertain. A dark and unpredictable energy flows throughout and keeps viewers fully plugged in long after the big reveal. On top of that, Audrey Tautou gets scarily lost in a role that casual fans might not have expected from her. He Loves Me… He Loves Me Not boldly dances on that fine line between creepy and sad, while also being a devilish twist on the old phrase, there are two sides to every story.
Horrors Elsewhere is a recurring column that spotlights a variety of movies from all around the globe, particularly those not from the United States. Fears may not be universal, but one thing is for sure — a scream is understood, always and everywhere.
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