Her Song (2026) Movie Review: A Sprightly, Charming Hangout Film that Bridges the Past and the Present

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John M. Keller’s “Her Song” evokes a simpler era, when everything seemed much more peaceful and manageable. It operates in a peculiar zone of indie dramas from a decade ago by maintaining a sense of coziness through its characters and the setting. You can basically call it a film about people walking and talking in a quaint French village, given its minimalist and conversational style. That’s why it feels almost like a crossover between Nicole Holofcener’s work and Olivier Assayas’s low-key dramas like “Summer Hours.” There’s a similar emphasis on conversations related to love, desire, and motherhood, parsed through the lens of its female characters.

What we get is a breezy ride through a writer’s anxieties that becomes a mode to explore its more delicate themes of perseverance and survival. Set in the early 2020s, the film follows a New York-based Franco-American writer, Olivia (Kalki Koechlin), who moves to a French village while working on her new novel. That’s when she tries to learn more about her grandmother, hoping to write that story in her words.

Her grandmother had survived the Nazi occupation during the Second World War, an era that feels strikingly different than their present lives in this bucolic setting. Now, everything feels carefully designed (or maintained) to put them at ease. So, the only reason for their frustration might be a church bell that refuses to stop ringing every hour. Nothing more, at least nothing out of the ordinary.

That’s where Olivia meets Madeline (Eléa Clair), who seems to be one of the few young people who stay in that village. A multi-skilled artisan, she can do everything from fixing cars and refurbishing old items to crafting her own art. Part of her is drawn to habits against the tide of her time. She barter food when needed and doesn’t like supermarkets. Yet, that investment in older ways isn’t tainted by regression. It reflects her self-sufficient nature and agency, a theme central to Keller’s film. In its first few moments, Madeline recalls a folk tale in which a woman seeks couplehood after realizing ‘her song.’

Keller’s script uses that thread to connect Madeline’s story with Olivia’s and her grandmother’s, musing on the past shadowing the present. With that in mind, the film could have been a cloying attempt to draw us through its nostalgic overtones. Yet, the direction keeps it unsentimental and light as a feather without overlooking the severity of the times of the exodus. Keller occasionally shows remnants of the past, like an abandoned structure that serves as a haunting reminder of everything endured behind its walls. Yet he focuses more on the human aspects of intergenerational transmission, such as values and personality traits.

Madeline, knowingly or unknowingly, carries some of her mother’s behaviors and habits, and Olivia does so herself through her attempts to understand her grandmother’s life in the 1940s. Olivia also becomes Keller’s way of interrogating some of the subtler details from the script related to the nature of companionship. At times, it goes a little further than necessary in explaining its evident interconnectedness. Some of its scenes do not add value to its central contemplation on modern relationships either. They bring it closer to an irreverent hangout film rather than a sharp character study. Yet, its languorous pace somehow makes all its pieces come together.

While decidedly casual and toned down for the most part, it occasionally becomes too cutesy when its characters interact with a childlike innocence. There’s nothing inherently wrong with those moments, but they fit in a different register than the rest of its scenes, and can feel a little out of place. Still, sometimes humor appropriately heightens the oddness of a scenario, while other times it reveals traces of their upbringing.

Olivia feels decidedly cheerier and more expressive than Madeline, which seems to be a result of her Americanness. When placed next to her, Madeline’s reactions seem far subtler, and she seems almost reserved. Similar cultural differences become apparent when Dave (Zach Grenier), an American man, drinks with Julien (Julien Jacob), a local fascinated by life in New York. Keller also introduces these differences without drawing undue attention to them.

At points, he shows characters speaking about Brazil, China, Belgium, Italy, and the US with curiosity rather than scorn or judgment. It’s the normality of their co-existence and the universality of their emotions that strikes a chord, especially when placed against past injustice. Keller places these details under the radar of a passive viewer, putting them in casual dialogues, to gradually reveal themselves to us. The result is more heartfelt than confrontational, upbeat than mournful, ruminative than pointed. There’s probably a more concise version of this film, but that doesn’t make it any less charming.

Koechlin and Clair’s performances are at the heart of its endearing charm, often understated. Clair, whose character serves as a partial inspiration for Olivia’s novel, doesn’t let her be reduced to an idea, making her humanness feel as potent as possible. She explores Madeline’s reservations and anxieties while offering a broader understanding of her personhood without them. Koechlin ensures her wide-eyed character doesn’t get reduced to her quirkiness, making her curiosity as appealing as a new idea would be to her character. Zach Grenier and Marie-Christine Adam make their supporting characters seem just as distinct and complementary to the film’s tone and message.

It all leaves with an experience that’s based on familiar themes and discussions, but handled with the utmost ease, so that you won’t mind hanging out with these characters for the duration, or more.