There have been countless adaptations of D.H. Lawrence's Lady Chatterley's Lover over the past eight decades, to the point where it has nearly become its own genre. Yet, few interpretations have effectively captured Lawrence's exploration of the psychological necessity to unify mind and body into a single life force as well as Catherine Corsini's Leaving.
In this film, we follow Suzanne, portrayed by Kristin Scott-Thomas, an English woman yearning to free herself from her French husband, Samuel, played by Yvan Attal. Her desire for emancipation intensifies after entering into a passionate entanglement with Ivan, an ex-convict portrayed by Sergi López, who is hired to construct an office for her physiotherapy practice in the backyard of their affluent estate. Samuel employs every tactic available to him—from cutting off her financial resources to threatening imprisonment for her lover—in a desperate attempt to confine her to their home until Suzanne ultimately realizes there is but one path to freedom.
Both Corsini and Scott-Thomas deserve commendation for transforming what could easily be regarded as a worn-out narrative into a striking film that simultaneously champions erotic self-discovery and critiques patriarchal dominance. Corsini's knack for precision shines through in her script and direction. The film's portrayal of the couple's first kiss is a masterful moment captured in a long shot from an ambiguous angle, prompting the audience to ponder whether anything significant transpired. The scene then transitions to a car ride; viewers anticipate dialogue addressing the kiss, yet it never materializes, and we see Suzanne next in bed with her husband—reading, seemingly unable to find solace in sleep.
Scott-Thomas delivers a performance marked by exacting physicality. At the beginning of the film, she presents as a collection of limbs lacking cohesion, observing her own body with a curious sense of wonder. Her initial encounter with Ivan unfolds through a kind of paralyzed clinginess, akin to a lifeless battery recharging itself. Before she attains the ultimate balance between body and mind, a transformation occurs that leads her husband to accurately yet derogatorily label her as a "bitch in heat."
Samuel's wrath over Suzanne's betrayal erupts with the incredulous fury of a factory owner facing a strike from his workers. "You are my wife!" he bellows, reducing her to mere ownership devoid of personal identity. The once civility between the estranged couple shatters, giving way to a fierce battle born from their broken marriage.
By transgressing both class boundaries and the traditional limits of sexual loyalty, Suzanne forfeits her bourgeois comforts and becomes ensnared in the relentless economic oppression wielded by those who control the strings of finance—from banks to the justice system. Ultimately, the lovers emerge as fugitives, reveling in the abundance of the natural world, while the faint wails of police sirens serve as a haunting reminder of Raymond Chandler's adage: you can bid farewell to just about anything, except the authorities.
