Colours of Time Review: Klapisch Paints a Charming Portrait Across Centuries

There’s a certain magic to films that don’t just tell a story, but invite you to feel the very texture of time itself. Cédric Klapisch’s “Colours of Time” is such a motion picture, a delightful cinematic creation that playfully skips between turn-of-the-century Paris and our own hyper-connected present.

Klapisch, a director whose work I’ve often found has a knack for blending warm humor with genuinely sincere observations about human connection—think of the easy charm in some of his earlier ensemble pieces—here crafts a story that offers both gentle amusement and rich food for thought. It feels like settling in with a good, thoughtful friend who has a fantastic story to share, particularly if you have an appreciation for French cinema’s flair or the allure of a well-realized historical setting. The film doesn’t just present two eras; it lets them breathe together.

The narrative unfolds along two distinct but intimately connected paths. In our current day, a varied group of individuals—anxious executive Céline, affable beekeeper Guy, teacher Abdel, and young photographer Seb—discover they are all descendants of one Adèle Meunier. Her long-abandoned house in Normandy is slated for demolition, prompting them to explore her legacy.

Simultaneously, we are transported to circa 1895, following the young Adèle herself as she leaves her provincial home for Paris, searching for her mother and finding herself amidst the whirlwind of the Belle Epoque’s artistic and technological transformations. These two threads are not just parallel; they are in constant, graceful conversation.

The Future Arrives, Then and Now: Modernity’s Mirror

“Colours of Time” truly sparks when it examines how the currents of the past flow into the shores of the present. Adèle’s experiences in a Paris fizzing with newness—the rise of Impressionism, the birth of photography, the shadow of the brand-new Eiffel Tower—don’t just stay in 1895; they find echoes in the lives of her 21st-century descendants. It reminds me of looking through old family photographs and suddenly seeing a familiar expression or a shared challenge staring back from a sepia-toned face.

The film cleverly considers the very idea of “modernity.” For Adèle and her contemporaries, their age was one of almost overwhelming change, a period seen by them as a flurry of radical invention, both thrilling and a little unsettling. This provides a poignant contrast to our own era’s anxieties about rapid technological shifts and what the future holds, a sentiment beautifully captured in the film’s original French title, “La Venue de l’Avenir,” meaning “The Coming of the Future.”

The film also offers a thoughtful look at how art evolves and our relationship with it. An opening scene, where a fashion shoot plans to digitally alter the colors of a Monet masterpiece to match a dress, sets a wry tone. This speaks volumes about our contemporary impulse to curate and modify, a direct counterpoint to the 19th-century artistic ferment where painters and pioneering photographers like Adèle’s friends, Anatole and Lucien, were wrestling with new ways to capture the fleeting truth of a moment.

Their debates about whether photography would supersede painting feel remarkably current when we consider today’s digital art forms. The film uses symbols like the newly electrified Parisian streets not merely as historical markers, but as points of connection, showing how each era perceives its own cutting edge with a mix of wonder and apprehension.

Generational Threads: Finding Oneself in Yesterday’s Paris

At the heart of this temporal dance are the characters, each carrying a piece of the story. Suzanne Lindon brings a wonderfully persuasive spirit to Adèle Meunier. Her path from the Normandy countryside into the heart of a rapidly modernizing Paris is marked by a quiet resilience and an open curiosity.

As she seeks her mother and forms friendships with the aspiring painter Anatole and the keen photographer Lucien, Adèle becomes our eyes on a world brimming with artistic fervor and social change. She isn’t just witnessing history; she’s living its pulse, adapting to the city’s thrum with a spirit that feels both of its time and timeless. It’s through her interactions, her willingness to pose for Anatole in exchange for literacy, that we see a person actively shaping her own life amidst larger forces.

In the present, the descendants offer a relatable spectrum of contemporary lives. Abraham Wapler as Seb, the young photographer, particularly stands out. Uncovering Adèle’s story seems to unlock something in him, nudging him from creating fleeting online content toward a deeper artistic expression, especially seen in his interactions with the musician Fleur. Alongside him, Julia Piaton’s Céline, Vincent Macaigne’s Guy, and Zinedine Soualem’s Abdel each find their perspectives subtly shifted by their shared historical exploration.

Their individual processes of self-discovery, sparked by dusty letters and a mysterious painting, feel authentic. The supporting cast, too, particularly Paul Kircher as Anatole and Vassili Schneider as Lucien, give life to the artistic debates of their era. Ultimately, these figures, past and present, are more than plot devices; they embody the film’s core ideas about legacy, the quiet transformations that shape us, and the unexpected ways we connect with those who came before.

Painting Paris with Light and Time: The Look of ‘Colours of Time’

Visually, “Colours of Time” is a treat, a carefully crafted experience that enhances its narrative ambitions. The depiction of late 19th-century Paris feels particularly alive, a testament to Marie Cheminal’s meticulous production design. There’s a tangible quality to the re-created period objects, the artists’ studios, and the documents that the descendants unearth.

It’s clear the filmmakers employed a thoughtful mix of studio work, subtle CGI, and perhaps even nods to traditional matte painting, creating a Belle Epoque Paris that feels like stepping into a cherished, slightly romanticized postcard, yet grounded enough to be believable. I was particularly taken with a sequence showing Adèle and her friends witnessing the city’s new electric lights flickering on – a simple moment, beautifully rendered.

The film employs some inventive methods to bridge its two timelines. Beyond simple cross-cutting, there are moments like a letter dictated in the past being read aloud by characters in both eras simultaneously, or scenes in the present unfolding in the exact Parisian locations frequented by Adèle. Even a more fantastical sequence involving an ayahuasca-induced visit to the past by the descendants, which could have felt jarring, is handled with a light touch that fits the film’s somewhat playful spirit.

These transitions generally succeed in making the connection between centuries feel fluid. The overall atmosphere is one of warmth and romantic charm, underscored by a visual palette that seems to glow. The film is openly designed to please an audience, and it does so with a self-aware wink, even admitting its occasional liberties with historical fact, which, for a story this focused on feeling and connection, hardly registers as a flaw.

Colours of Time premiered at the 78th Cannes Film Festival on May 22, 2025, and was theatrically released in France on the same day.

Full Credits

Director: Cédric Klapisch

Writers: Cédric Klapisch, Santiago Amigorena

Producers: Bruno Levy (Ce Qui Me Meut), co-produced with StudioCanal, France 2 Cinéma, Panache Productions, and La Compagnie Cinématographique

Cast: Suzanne Lindon, Abraham Wapler, Vincent Macaigne, Julia Piaton, Zinedine Soualem, Paul Kircher, Vassili Schneider, Sara Giraudeau, Cécile de France, Olivier Gourmet, Fred Testot, Vincent Perez, François Berléand, Philippine Leroy-Beaulieu, Claire Pommet, Raïka Hazanavicius

Director of Photography (Cinematographer): Alexis Kavyrchine

Editor: Anne-Sophie Bion

Composer: Robin Coudert