Avignon

I dedicate my review to the superb revelation of the film Élisa Erka

There are some films that, without fanfare, stand out for their accuracy, sensitivity, and intelligence. Avignon, Johann Dionnet's first feature film, is undeniably part of that rare family of romantic comedies that manage to combine the charm of entertainment with social insight. Adapted from his own short film Je Joue Rodrigue, which was already acclaimed at the Alpe d'Huez Festival, this film takes us to a setting that is both familiar and unfamiliar: the passionate turmoil of the Festival Off d'Avignon. Not in the prestigious spotlight of the In section, but in the bustling, overheated alleyways, saturated with faded posters, where the great lottery of artistic recognition is played out every day. This is where dreams collide with the ruthless logistics of live performance, the war of flyers, word of mouth that is more essential than ever, and the quiet anxiety that gnaws at intermittent actors: that of playing to a half-empty theater, or worse, to indifference. Avignon is a film about this tension, about what it says about the place of artists in society, about what it reveals about human relationships when the masks come off—or when they are put on to better seduce.

By placing Stéphane, a boulevard comedian in the midst of an existential crisis, at the center of his story, Johann Dionnet touches on something very contemporary: the visceral doubt of artistic legitimacy. Played by Baptiste Lecaplain, who gives one of his most subtle performances here, Stéphane joins a ramshackle troupe at the last minute to perform Ma sœur s'incruste ! in a charmingly old-fashioned Off theater. It is there, at the bend in an alley, that he stumbles upon Fanny, a magnificent revelation played by Élisa Erka, a young actress in the In crowd and the headliner of a production of Ruy Blas staged in one of the high places of classical theater. That's all it takes for the trap to close: a misunderstanding leads Fanny to believe that Stéphane is playing Le Cid, and in a festival where everything moves so fast, where artistic identity is sometimes a calling card, Stéphane sinks into a lie that the film's direction renders both comical and deeply human. For here, the lie is not cynical. It is the extension of a shattered dream, of a desire to be seen differently, to be judged on the basis of a flattering appearance—even if it means betraying who one really is. 

This premise, already promising, could have given rise to a mechanical comedy, stringing together comical situations against a backdrop of romantic misunderstandings. But Johann Dionnet takes a different path: that of emotional truth. Each character, no matter how minor, carries a fragment of this truth. There is Serge, a hot-tempered and obsessive director played with rare intensity by Lyes Salem, whose outbursts of authority actually mask a fear of failure. There is Coralie, his wife, played with surprising finesse by Alison Wheeler, navigating between weariness, loyalty, and sisterly complicity with Stéphane. There is the young, lost stage manager (Rudy Milstein), a generational echo of Stéphane's doubts, and above all Pat, a character who is both burlesque and moving, played by the director himself. His nighttime dance scene to K.Maro's Femme Like You, in an empty street where only the stones seem to be watching, is one of the film's great moments—one of those moments in a comedy that says everything about the loneliness and perseverance of those who refuse to give up on their dreams.

Avignon captures our attention thanks to the care taken in its staging. Far from flat naturalism, director, screenwriter, and actor Johann Dionnet infuses his film with a distinctive visual identity: the golden light of summer evenings, shadows cast on the city walls, crumpled posters in corners, scenes captured on the fly in the crowd. Avignon is not just a backdrop: it is a character, a moving, overwhelming entity that amplifies the stakes, exacerbates tensions and heightens emotions. The shots of the city at night, accompanied by a carefully crafted soundtrack (including a beautiful use of Justice's We Are Your Friends), give the film a bittersweet festive atmosphere, where you can feel the beauty of the moment slipping away before it has even begun. This sense of urgency, of poetic precariousness, permeates the entire film, and is undoubtedly what makes it so vibrant. In Avignon, there is an acute awareness of the passing of time, of love that can blossom and fade in the space of a fortnight, of artistic promises that we believe we can keep but which slip away at the first sign of criticism.

The film's great strength also lies in its ability to subtly address the war between theatrical aesthetics. Without didacticism or Manichaeism, director Johann Dionnet contrasts two visions of theater: the classical, subsidized, recognized, carried by heritage texts and often austere staging; and the boulevard, popular, dynamic, sometimes mocked but deeply rooted in the tradition of collective laughter. In a memorable scene, an actor from the In explains haughtily to a colleague from the Off that theater is not about performing to please, but about performing to educate. The film never takes sides, but it does ask: who decides what is noble? Is it the text, the audience, the venue, the ticket price? And above all, who are the real snobs: those who despise laughter or those who ignore seriousness? By crossing the paths of Stéphane and Fanny, Avignon shows that one cannot exist without the other, and that true art often arises from these points of friction.

With three well-deserved awards at the Festival de l'Alpe d'Huez—Grand Prix du Jury, Prix Coup de Coeur, and Prix des Abonnés Canal+—Avignon has earned its distinctions. It deserves them for the sincerity of its message, the quality of its dialogue (some of which has already become cult), the richness of its supporting roles, the relevance of its view of the creative world, and above all for the rare tenderness it instills in each of its characters. It's a film that does you good, not because it avoids conflict, but because it embraces it with delicacy. A film that questions with humor without ever mocking. A film that breathes life, in its contradictions, its impulses, its moments of grace and its failures.

Avignon is our big favorite this June. It's a hymn to theater, to the passion of acting, to the right to make mistakes, and to the necessity of love. It's a film that could well find an audience beyond the regulars of the In and Off festivals, as it speaks to each of us: to our childhood dreams, our adult lies, our desires to be seen, recognized, and loved. At a time when romantic comedy sometimes seems to be searching for a new lease of life, Johann Dionnet proves that it is still possible to use it as a playground and a forum for reflection, where humor, intimacy, and artistry can coexist without overshadowing each other. We come away with a pressing desire to discover the Avignon Festival, especially if it means seeing the film's revelation, Elisa Erka.

Avignon
Directed by Johann Dionnet
Produced by Mikael Govciyan
Written by Johann Dionnet, Benoît Graffin
Starring Baptiste Lecaplain, Elisa Erka, Amaury de Crayencour, Johann Dionnet, Romain Francisco, Rudy Milstein, Ariane Mourier, Lyes Salem, Alison Wheeler
Director of photography: Thomas Rames
Production companies: Nolita Cinéma, Studio TF1 Cinéma, France 2 Cinéma
Distributed by Warner Bros (France)
Release date: June 18, 2025 (France)
Running time: 102 minutes

Seen on June 4, 2025 at the Forum des Images, theater 500 (club Allocine)

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