Rust and Bone

Cotillard is quite possibly one of the most soulful actresses on Earth, which makes RUST AND BONE supremely lucky to have her in top billing. As Stephanie, Cotillard is all pain and sorrow and resilience, sometimes in turns, sometimes all at ones. An easy performance it is not. A memorable, award-worthy, honest one? Definitely. There's no artifice at all in Cotillard's arsenal. (There's one particular scene when she sits with her eyes closed on a terrace, eyes closed, ears pricked to music, arms flapping in signal to some imaginary whale, and we are there with her, so invested that we're spent.)

Schoenaerts' Ali makes a formidable other half to Cotillard's Stéphanie; he's bruised and burly and brimming with potential, though he does tend to falter when faced with an option to be noble. He's a good guy who can't quite settle into that role, not yet. Without these two, Rust and Bone would be Hysterics and Rote. Lucky for us, it isn't. And in addition to the performances, the movie also boasts a heart-achingly honest script that isn't afraid to make its two leads broken and human. When they try to put themselves back together again, we want to cheer for them, even though it pains us to see them squander opportunities (especially when it comes to Ali). There's little that's cliched in Rust and Bone, even if people do get what they want and deserve. Their triumphs feel hard-fought, even frail. And so satisfying.