Passages (2023 | France | 91 minutes | Ira Sachs)

first take: He may wear a big teddy bear coat, but a monster lurks beneath. In Passages, Ira Sachs flips Franz Rogowski’s usual longing innocence into a heel turn as an artiste with an emotionally voracious black hole at his core. It must also be said, the costume designer brought an attitude of “OUI, PLUS!”, Adèle Exarchopoulos is the only grown-up in the room, and Ben Whishaw fucks.

Like so many filmmakers (or people, really), pandemic lockdown did a number on Ira Sachs. Finding himself isolated (albeit with his husband), a longing for connection inspired him to write a script for a new Paris-set film about a gay filmmaker whose impulsive affair with a young woman shakes up his marriage and reveals his careening emotional state.

When we first meet German film director Tomas (Franz Rogowski), he’s an exacting presence on a film set: with a mix of precise directions and exasperated scolding for an actor who hasn’t master the subtle art of making an entrance to an underground bar. Later, at the film’s wrap party, he’s making an effort to cut loose with cast and crew at a crowded Parisian club. His softer, quieter, British husband Martin (Ben Whishaw), doesn’t feel much like dancing and makes an early exit. This leaves Agathe (Adèle Exarchopoulos), freshly having dumped her boyfriend, in the mood to make a night of it both on the dance floor and at the after party with this vibrant figure. With a sense of self-gratified wonder, he reports his transgression the next morning to his husband, wanting to talk about how new and exciting it felt to have sex with a woman. Whishaw plays the reaction with more self-defensive annoyance than betrayal, reminding him that he’s always needy in the aftermath of a project, desperate for something new to fill the void left by the completion of a creative endeavor.

At first, there’s a sense of shrugging off this little fling as european and cosmopolitan. But as Thomas throws himself headlong into the affair, Martin tosses him out of the apartment and soon enters into a new relationship with an up-and-coming writer who’s much more attuned to his emotional needs. This sets the scene not for a traditional love triangle, but occasionally intersecting vectors, whose stability is constantly perturbed by Tomas’s reckless, self-serving, desires. Rogowski gives the character an almost child-like sense of discovery, a perpetual hunger for novelty, and an innocent ability to ignore his destructive effect on others. It’s by no means a flattering role, but Rogowski’s fearless in embodying this ego-maniac as he ricochets between partners in waves of desperate, demanding, indecisive stunts for attention.

Working in one of the world’s most romantic cities, he nevertheless relies primarily on intimate interiors: cozy cafes, intimate apartment gatherings, and the bedrooms of country houses whose walls belie privacy. Sachs has assembled a cast of deeply compelling actors and allows them the dimensionality to make their attractions (and revulsions) credible, sexy, and frustrating. Along with the deft performances in navigating these thorny relationships, the costume design is a triumph of never saying no — whether it’s the supreme elegance that elevates Exarchopoulos above her schoolteacher station, the flair of a flowy scarlet robe that shows the sexier side of Whishaw’s daytime practicalities, or the outlandish crop tops, mesh shirts, or clownlike pants that Rogowski dons to set his Tomas apart from the realm of mere mortals. Even as he becomes monstrous, the vulnerability and intimacy of the actors create a relentlessly watchable story of satisfying desire, navigating jealousy, and making choices between self-preservation and emotional fulfillment. Sachs’s gift is appreciating that when there aren’t easy answers, it’s all the more thrilling to watch compelling performers wrestle with the questions.