Nino Review: Pauline Loquès’ Graceful Entry into Cinema

Imagine walking into a doctor’s office for what you assume is a routine check and walking out with your life irrevocably altered. This is precisely the jarring entry point into Pauline Loquès’ debut feature, “Nino.” We meet Nino Clavel, a young man in his late twenties, as he navigates the sterile corridors of a hospital.

The news delivered is stark: throat cancer, linked to HPV. There’s a chilling matter-of-factness to the consultation, almost an administrative error in tone, as if the weight of the words doesn’t quite register in the room’s acoustics. The clock starts ticking immediately: aggressive treatment, chemotherapy and radiotherapy, must commence in a mere three days.

Adding another layer of immediate pressure, Nino learns the treatment could render him infertile, forcing a weekend decision about sperm preservation. In these opening moments, Loquès masterfully shifts Nino’s world from the mundane to a sudden, profound crisis, pulling us into his disoriented state.

The Catalyst and Nino’s Immediate World

Nino’s reaction to this seismic news is not one of histrionics but of a deep, internal tremor. He absorbs the diagnosis with a quiet diffidence, his questions to the doctor meek, almost apologetic. This subdued response is telling of his introverted nature, a man who seems to process catastrophe by receding further into himself.

The film beautifully captures this sense of a spirit quietly absorbing a shockwave. Adding a touch of poignant irony, this life-altering weekend also happens to be his 29th birthday. As if the universe sought to compound his ordeal, Nino then discovers he has lost his apartment keys; his concierge, we learn, has passed away, making access impossible.

This seemingly small misfortune acts as a clever narrative device, a tangible expulsion from his private sanctuary, forcing him out into the world precisely when he might wish to retreat. He is set adrift, searching for an anchor as the city’s pulse continues around him, largely unaware of his personal vortex. This situation amplifies a pre-existing tendency towards solitude, highlighting a character accustomed to feeling alone even when surrounded.

A Weekend of Wandering and Encounters

What follows is Nino’s reluctant pilgrimage through Paris, a city rendered not as a romantic ideal but as a space of transition and anonymity. This journey, spanning the three days before his treatment, is punctuated by a series of encounters, each one a potential outlet for the immense pressure building within him, yet each interaction underscores his profound difficulty in voicing his truth.

His attempt to confide in his mother (a nuanced Jeanne Balibar) veers off course due to her own preoccupations, her guess that he might be transitioning far from his actual burden; he defaults to claiming depression, a half-truth that feels like a heavier stone. A surprise birthday gathering orchestrated by his friend Sofian (William Lebghil) becomes another stage for his silent performance of normalcy.

Yet, amidst these near-misses of communication, flickers of potential connection emerge. A chance meeting with Zoe (Salomé Dewaels), a former schoolmate, and her young son, Solal, offers a gentle interlude. His interactions with the child, in particular, hint at a quiet yearning, perhaps for a future now thrown into question. A poignant moment with a close female friend (Camille Rutherford), possibly involving him assisting her with an IVF injection, presents a sharp contrast to his own impending fertility concerns.

He also finds himself drawn to learning more about his own father, who passed away at a young age. Even a brief exchange with a stranger in a Turkish bath, a cameo by Mathieu Amalric, provides an unexpected moment of simple human contact. Throughout these experiences, Nino’s struggle to share his news forms the emotional core, making palpable the weight of a secret that isolates him even as he moves among others.

The Soul of Nino – Pellerin’s Performance and Supporting Connections

Théodore Pellerin’s portrayal of Nino is the film’s quietly beating heart. His performance is a masterclass in understated expression, conveying a universe of turmoil, fear, and nascent hope through subtle shifts in his gaze, the slight tremor in his voice, or the way he carries himself. Pellerin inhabits Nino’s diffidence and thoughtful quality with such authenticity that we feel every unspoken anxiety.

He is in virtually every frame, and the film rests securely on his capable shoulders, drawing us deeply into Nino’s interiority. The supporting cast provides a rich tapestry of relationships that illuminate Nino’s predicament. Jeanne Balibar’s mother is not a villain but rather a study in well-meaning self-absorption, her presence highlighting the specific loneliness of being misunderstood by those closest.

As Zoe, Salomé Dewaels offers a warmth and an understated chemistry with Pellerin, suggesting a path to solace or at least shared humanity. William Lebghil as Sofian embodies the loyal friend, perhaps not fully grasping the depth of Nino’s crisis but present nonetheless. These figures, whether they are aware of his diagnosis or not, act as mirrors, reflecting different facets of life, connection, and the futures Nino is forced to reconsider.

A Tender Gaze – Loquès’ Directorial Approach and Parisian Atmosphere

In her debut, Pauline Loquès demonstrates a remarkably assured and sensitive hand. “Nino” is a film that chooses quiet observation over grand drama, allowing its emotional power to build through intimacy and empathy. Her light touch navigates the difficult subject matter with grace, finding warmth and even moments of gentle, awkward humor in Nino’s situation.

The cinematic language supports this approach beautifully. Paris is depicted not through its postcard vistas but as an everyday urban landscape, often shown under construction or at night, captured by Lucie Baudinaud’s atmospheric cinematography. This portrayal underscores a sense of life in flux, mirroring Nino’s own uncertain state. Extensive use of close-ups fosters a deep connection with Nino, while the sound design often subtly reinforces his sense of isolation or, conversely, the rare moments of being truly heard.

A well-chosen Fontaines D.C. track, “In ‘The Modern World,” resonates near the film’s end, offering a surge of feeling that suggests Nino, having walked through the valley of his fear, might be tentatively reaching back towards life. Loquès crafts a film that gently leads its protagonist, and the audience, toward an appreciation for connection and the quiet courage it takes to face an uncertain dawn.

Nino is the feature debut of Pauline Loquès and premiered in the Critics’ Week section at the 2025 Cannes Film Festival.

Full Credits

Director: Pauline Loquès

Writer: Pauline Loquès

Producers: Sandra da Fonseca

Cast: Théodore Pellerin, William Lebghil, Salomé Dewaels, Jeanne Balibar, Camille Rutherford, Estelle Meyer, Victoire Du Bois, Balthazar Billaud, Mathieu Amalric, Nahéma Ricci, Alexandre Desrousseaux

Director of Photography (Cinematographer): Lucie Baudinaud

Editor: Clémence Diard