Their names are Tessa, Anaïs, Catia, Manon, Elia, Hugo, Clément. They’re all eleventh-grade students at a lycée in Ivry, an unadorned suburb of Paris, they have puppy fat, voices still squeaky and braces on their teeth. In differing combinations of twos and threes, they swap stories and viewpoints, about their family backgrounds, their relationships with their parents, first loves and dreams for the future, all seemingly unaffected by the presence of the camera. Few of them have anyone to truly confide in at home, making their ability to articulate their emotions with such eloquence and self-reflection and reveal their insecurities, longings, sorrows and fears all the more astonishing. On the cusp of adulthood, they vacillate between stoic composure – that life is hard is a certainty accepted with a shrug – and romanticism; between the desire to be cared for and the anticipation of imminent independence; between earnestness and youthful abandon.
The ephemeral nature of being 17 in this world may be daunting, yet it carries solace too. Solace is also what Claire Simon provides with her tremendously astute and sensitive approach: It is a comfort to know one is not alone after all.