The inherent challenge that comes with assessing the past is that there is simply so much of it – even by the time you’ve read this very sentence, it can be considered a historical remnant, an action that only exists in the past tense. This has led history to be viewed as stodgy and immovable, a series of events that we can only observe, and perhaps assert our own interpretation. However, something that becomes increasingly clear the more one looks at it is that it tends to be quite dynamic if we attempt to observe it as more than just a series of incidents, and instead a long series of intriguing moments that have accumulated into the present moment. This is something that Cédric Klapisch attempts to explore in Colours of Time (French: La Venue de l’avenir), his wonderfully endearing and heartfelt story that follows a quartet of cousins, none of whom know each other, being brought together (with dozens like them), told that they are all ancestors of the same woman, who lived in provincial France in the 19th century, and went from a simple country girl to the talk of the town. Her house is intended to be demolished to make way for a new parking lot, and the government has to get approval from her descendants – however, the more they discover, the further they begin to realise that destroying her house would be erasing a small but significant part of their history, and the central four characters begin to reconsider their initial ambivalence, understanding the scope of what is being asked of them. A wonderfully exuberant, daring blend of comedy and drama, handcrafted by a director who has consistently shown himself to be an authority on some of the most intimate and detailed aspects of the human condition, Colours of Time is a terrific film – it may not be particularly revolutionary, but it has enough heart and soul to sustain itself, being a worthy addition to an ongoing canon of films that seek to understand the past without actively attempting to redefine it in the process.

The bridge between the past and the present is somehow both wide and narrow, depending on the perspective of the people tasked with bringing it to life. In the case of Colours of Time, we have the story of a quartet of people who are all entirely strangers, being bonded by the fact that they discover that they’re cousins, a shocking realisation that brings them all together and forces them to get to know people who were entirely unknown to them only hours earlier. This is in itself a fascinating subject for a film – a group of people realising that they have a common ancestor, and becoming acquainted with people who would have remained perfect strangers for the rest of their lives had their connections not been made clear. However, the film also provides a secondary timeline, focused on the woman from whom they were all descended – a timeless beauty who was the muse of both amateur and professional artists when she was alive, and her influence still lingering very heavily on the lives of the people who came about in the century since her death. It’s a fascinating concept, and Klapisch creates a film that bounces between the two timelines, showing the everyday existence of these people and how each tiny decision has an impact on the future in ways that we tend to never realise. History exists in dialogue with itself – it’s not merely chronological, since such a neat, ordered approach (while logical) is far too simplistic and narrow to actually be all that impactful. Instead, we find a lot more value in a film that borrows its ideas from something far simpler and more nuanced, carrying an abundance of meaning in the simplest and most intimate of ideas. This is where a lot of the meaning behind this film begins to emerge, and we see its conversations around looking at the past and present in conjunction with each other much more clearly and with far more dedication to the material. History may not always traditionally repeat itself, but there’s always going to be patterns that anyone who pays attention can see, especially when the film quietly and methodically unravels into something far more profound than we’d expect based on a cursory glance.

Considering both his standing in the industry and his longevity, Klapisch was able to assemble quite an impressive cast for Colours of Time, which contains some stellar performances from many of the French film industry’s most interesting actors, both veterans and newcomers alike. In the present-day segment, the film is led by Abraham Wapler, who is not particularly familiar to many of us (he’s the son of the late Valérie Benguigui, a wonderful actor in her own right), but who immediately captures our attention with his performance here. He has the right balance of angst and tenderness that makes his character so captivating, a worthy protagonist in a story that requires someone with an abundance of skill. Vincent Macaigne, who has himself become one of those actors who tend to appear in these charming ensemble films, is once again playing a character who could be seen as insufferable had he not done so with such wholehearted commitment to playing into his inherent eccentricities for the benefit of both this character and the film as a whole. Julia Piaton and Zinedine Soualem are also wonderful, even if they don’t leave as much of an impression, while Claire Pommet (otherwise known as Pomme, the name under which she releases her wonderful music) has a brief but unforgettable part as Wapler’s love interest. The cast in the present day is much more cohesive than the one in the past, particularly since Suzanne Lindon, who plays the ancestor whose home forms the bridge between the past and present, is woefully miscast in the role. She lacks the screen presence and charisma to play this feisty, timeless beauty who inspired countless artists to create their best work, often struggling to hold our attention. This is particularly troubling since both Paul Kircher and Vassili Schneider are wonderful, but unfortunately are at Lindon’s disposal, her weak and unnecessarily bland performance dragging them down in the process. This is the kind of film where the cast can only be as strong as its weakest link, and while the contemporary ensemble is tremendous, the historical one is far less effective, ultimately preventing the film from reaching its full potential in the process.

Something that we do find keeps the film afloat, even when it can sometimes exhibit a disparity between the two different ensembles, is the execution. Klapisch is a skilled filmmaker – he’s not someone who boasts overly extravagant, bespoke style, but he’s done enough solid work to have a firm grasp on the medium. Colours of Time is a beautifully made work, and it is particularly noteworthy based on the fact that it is essentially two films in one – half the story is a romantic drama set in the 19th century, whereas the other is a poignant story of family. The director sets out to create a version of both that not only stand on their own, but also work in conjunction with one another, reflecting the film’s deeper themes around identity and reconciling the past with the present. It’s a visually arresting film, which is especially important considering large portions of both narratives take place in Paris – many of the same locations are intentionally used to show how the architecture may remain the same while people and their trends come and go. The director puts in a lot of work into bringing the past to life – the costumes by Pierre-Yves Gayraud and production design by Marie Cheminal are the main attraction, each detail so brilliantly put together. There is thought put into absolutely every stitch, and while it can sometimes feel like the filmmakers are driven more by the spectacle than by the storytelling itself, it does prove to be remarkably cohesive, especially in terms of how everything ultimately comes together by the end. It’s not merely a well-crafted ornament, but a film that moves with an emotional resonance that actually is saying something meaningful – there are some overly flowery diversions from time to time, and it can sometimes be slightly overwrought, but every emotional beat feels earned and meaningful, and the film itself becomes quite effective in how it explores and unpacks these themes, doing so with wit, precision and an abundance of heart that feels genuine.

As a whole, Colours of Time is a very simple film, but one that is nonetheless effective when it comes to communicating its core ideas. It never asks too much of the viewer, and instead just requires us to be willing to suspend disbelief, especially when it comes to the many plot holes, such as the logic being far more malleable than we would initially expect based on a cursory glance, and where it doesn’t necessarily always make sense. It’s a solid, well-crafted film with as much soul as it has aesthetic beauty – the bright colours and stunning composition allow us to jump into the world of this film, capturing something so much more engaging and compelling, and ultimately bringing some intriguing and compelling insights into the minds of the viewer. It’s anchored by a terrific cast, most of whom are doing absolutely stellar, captivating work that feels so much more enthralling than had it just been handed over to actors who didn’t quite understand the tone of the material. It’s not a particularly serious film – it never intends to be, and instead it focuses on exploring the world in a way that is engaging, captivating, and deeply moving in ways that can sometimes be quite unconventional, but carry a lot of meaning, even in the quieter and more intimate moments. A film that has a lot of genuine interest in not only the story, but the ideas that it represents, Colours of Time is a terrific piece of cinema, a film that is wholeheartedly very charming, blending comedy and drama in a way that feels sincere and meaningful, and ultimately proving to be nothing if not a wholeheartedly delightful historical romp that captures our interest in the past in a truly unforgettable way, even if the film itself can sometimes be slightly limited in perspective and scope.