Léonor Serraille is a writer and director from Lyon, born in 1986. She holds a master’s degree in general and comparative literature from Sorbonne Nouvelle University. Her debut feature Montparnasse Bienvenüe (2017) received widespread critical acclaim (including here at DMovies). It premiered at the Un Certain Regard section of Cannes, where it won the Caméra d’Or. It also won the Jury Prize at the Champs-Élysées Film Festival.

Her own experience of having two children inspored the motherhood topic os Mother and Son (2022). The fictional family’s journey from Africa to France was partially influenced by her partner’s background—he emigrated from Africa to France at a young age.

Her new film Ari is about the eponymous 27-year-old trainee teacher, who collapsed during a school inspector’s visit. His father, frustrated by his perceived failure, throws him out of the house. Left emotionally vulnerable and alone in the city, Ari hesitantly reconnects with old friends. As memories from the past months resurface, he begins to see that others are not as successful as he once believed – and that he may have been drifting through his own life without truly living it.

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Nataliia Serebriakova – Is this your own script? If so, how long did you work on it, and what was your process?

Léonor Serraille – Yes. I started thinking about the script several months before I met a group of actors from our national drama school. I initially met 30 of them but had to narrow it down to 15. I had conversations with each one, and through these discussions, I realised that my original idea – a choral film where all characters had equal importance as young teachers – was not the direction I wanted to take.

After these conversations, I understood that the story needed to focus on a single character, someone aimless and wandering. That resonated with me personally at the time because I felt lonely, and I found it compelling to explore loneliness. So, I decided my protagonist would be a young teacher. At that point, I had the structure of the film: the main character, their father, their mother, and the initial setup.

I began writing with this in mind, but just weeks before filming, I realised something was missing. I had all these moments from my character’s life, but they weren’t connecting seamlessly – I needed some kind of glue, a binding element. That’s when I realised the missing theme was fatherhood. Many of the young male actors I had spoken to reflected on how they envisioned themselves as fathers in the future. Interestingly, the women didn’t talk as much about motherhood. I found this contrast intriguing, and I felt it was the missing link in the story.

I informed my lead actor and producer about this change, and they agreed with it. So, I continued refining the script. The funny thing is, I kept rewriting it throughout the entire process. While scouting locations, I would return home and revise scenes. Even after a day of shooting, I’d go back and tweak things. It was a long-term, evolving process.

NS – What made you choose your lead actor Andranic Manet?

LS – It wasn’t about his physical appearance – it was about the way he could embody the character. Out of the 30 actors I mentioned earlier, we were left with 15 finalists, and each of them auditioned for the role of Ari using the same scene.

We gave ourselves three days to choose, and the scene we selected for auditions was meant to be somewhat clumsy and humorous. But when Andranic performed it, he brought a deeply dark and sorrowful interpretation. That surprised me. At first, I found it incredibly brave of him to approach it differently, but then I realized that Ari’s character carried a lot of despair and sadness.

There was another moment during casting where the scene was completely different – very light, weightless, almost carefree. Andranic handled both extremes beautifully. I discovered he had the ability to balance both the heavy and light sides of a character. That was crucial because, in a film centred around a single protagonist, the actor must be able to navigate various tones and emotional states.

Andranic has a strong instinct, but he also knows how to improvise. He can let go naturally while still preparing for his role with great precision. He’s a highly technical actor, which is exactly what I look for. Once we’ve explored all possibilities in rehearsals, and once he steps into character on set, his performance feels effortless and completely authentic.

And, of course, he has this incredible gaze—his very pale complexion and distinctive look give him so many possibilities as an actor.

NS – We return to childhood friendships only to realise we’ve grown apart. Why was it important for you to portray this?

LS – Well, maybe what separates us is simply life itself. There’s a difference in social backgrounds—it’s not always easy to stay close to people who have had everything handed to them effortlessly. In some ways, money can drive a wedge between friendships.

It’s a difficult question because, honestly, it’s not something I consciously thought about while writing. Maybe, in a way, writing this film was my way of realising that I had grown apart from my own friends and that I missed them. But I’m still in the process of understanding what I actually did with this film.

One thing I can say for sure is that, if we take Ryad’s character in the film, for instance, he represents a true friendship – one where you can go three or four years without seeing each other, but when you reunite, the conversation picks up effortlessly, as if you had just spoken the day before. You sit down, share a coffee, a cigarette, and it feels completely natural. That kind of bond is comforting.

NS – The film feels more like a portrait rather than a typical romantic or sentimental drama. Was that intentional?

LS – Yes, I think the term “portrait” really fits the film. Just like with a painting, the story itself isn’t what matters most – it’s about capturing Ari at a specific moment in his life. What’s important is how we, as viewers, experience his emotions, how we feel what he’s going through.

NS – The film also seems to reflect something about post-Covid society – some people seem lost, disconnected from life, while others have adapted and embraced a more bourgeois existence. Was that intentional?

LS – I was inspired by a lot of people I know. What struck me was how many people were struggling, feeling disoriented, as if they had lost their illusions. The pandemic left many feeling a bit unmoored, unsure of their place in the world, while others seemed to have used that time to reinvent themselves, choosing a more structured or privileged path. That contrast fascinated me.

NS – I wanted to ask about the physicality of the film – the way characters touch each other. At the beginning, the mother softly, gently touches her son’s face. Later, Ari caresses his girlfriend’s face, and then there’s the physical contact between him and his male friends – one in a fight, the other in a more playful interaction. Were you intentionally highlighting physical connection, especially in a time when touch has become less common?

LS – Yes, absolutely. Physicality was something I wanted to emphasise – how touch signifies intimacy, familiarity, and connection. When you truly know someone, there’s often an unspoken need for physical closeness. In a time when physical touch has become rarer, I felt it was important to highlight these moments of contact, to remind us of their significance.

For instance, when I comb my daughter’s hair, I can almost feel my own mother’s hands brushing through mine. That’s what the film was about—conveying softness, closeness, and trying to find ways to echo and mirror those deeply embedded sensations.

At the very beginning of the film, the way the mother breathes or interacts with her son sets the tone for everything that follows. I’m struggling to find the right English word for it, but it’s a small, intimate act that carries so much meaning. In my second film, which spans 25 years, I worked a lot with the idea of sensory echoes, and I applied the same approach here.

With our camera, we wanted to caress the characters, to capture their softness, their unspoken connections. We shot on film, aiming to stay as close as possible to the characters without intruding—just as gently as the mother does in the opening scene. That also shaped how we framed Ari: we didn’t look at him from above, but rather slightly from below, as you would a child—a very tall child now. This perspective became our guiding principle in both shooting and editing the film.

We also wanted to emphasise the simplicity of these interactions, how naturally they unfold.

NS – How did you shoot the scenes with children? Was it difficult? Perhaps you were inspired by Claire Simon’s documentaries in the way you worked with them?

LS – I had already filmed children for my second feature, Mother and Son. Before doing that, I was terrified – working with children is supposed to be extremely difficult. So I decided to focus on building trust and familiarity first. I spent time getting to know them, letting them get to know me, and then gradually explaining the situation and context of each scene. After that, I simply let them exist within that space.

We used the same approach with Andranic. We brought him into a classroom multiple times before shooting, and the kids quickly grew attached to him. They were excited to see him again when filming began. We explained everything to them in detail – what would happen, that he would read a poem, struggle with it, then collapse. But once that foundation of trust was there, we just observed and captured what unfolded naturally.

I understand why you brought up Claire Simon. I’m not deeply familiar with her work, but the comparison makes sense. In a way, this method is similar to documentary filmmaking—you establish a bond, gain trust, and then allow the reality of the moment to take shape on camera.

It’s also incredibly difficult for actors because children are naturally great performers. They don’t overthink or force anything. You can’t “teach” them how to act; they just are. That makes it especially challenging for professional actors, who have to find a way to match that level of authenticity. It’s a real test of precision and presence in performance.

NS – How were the paintings featured in the film chosen?

LS – The paintings seen throughout the film are actually displayed in the Fine Arts Museum in Lille. Since we couldn’t shoot there, we recreated The Sleeping Man by Carolus-Duran and placed it in another museum in the metropolis, La Piscine – a former swimming pool in Roubaix, as you may have noticed.

I became familiar with these paintings while accompanying my daughter to painting workshops at these museums. The Sleeping Man moved me deeply – I felt as though his heart was outside his body, resting beside him. Another artist I admire is Oudinot, and the Lille Museum holds one of his works, The Gaze. This painting aligned perfectly with the film’s vision – something intimate, close to the skin, evoking sensations of touch and dreamlike states. It became a constant reference during the shoot, almost a guiding thread for the script itself.

There’s always a limit to how close you can get to a painting in a museum, but the camera removes that barrier entirely.

NS – How did you collaborate with the DoP Sébastien Buchmann on this project?

LS – I’ve never had any particular difficulties working with a DoP. It’s true that back in film school, I hesitated to make films because I felt I lacked technical expertise. But in a way, that became an advantage. Being a cinematographer is about adapting to a film’s specific language, and the most important thing is the collaborative process—building the film together through conversation.

Initially, the DoP I had worked with before, Hélène Louvart, was unavailable, and I only found out shortly before the shoot. That’s when I met Sébastien Buchmann, and we quickly connected. He was excited that we were shooting on film, and although we didn’t have much time to prepare, I explained my vision clearly: I wanted the entire crew to feel free. We were a small team, shooting across many locations, which meant constantly moving around. But working together felt seamless.

A few weeks ago, I asked Sébastien how I was on set – since I don’t remember much myself. He told me: “for you, the actors are paramount. You don’t worry too much about lighting or sound – your focus is always on the actors. And for you, the sequence is the shot itself; you want to give actors as much freedom as possible”.

That was reassuring to hear because, for me, the actor is always at the centre of the filmmaking process. And it’s important that the people I work with share that perspective.

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Léonor Serraille is pictured at the top of this interview, snapped by Philippe Lebruman. The other image is a still from Ari.