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Premiering out of Un Certain Regard, “Love Me Tender” follows a lawyer-turned-writer who loses custody of her son after coming-out. Director Anna Cazenave Cambet adapted the wrenching film from author Constance Debré’s autobiographical novel, which recounted the years-long custody battle that would then ensue – a period in which the distressed mother was often legally barred from seeing her child.
After reading both the book and script over the course of one day, Vicky Krieps chased after the role – setting the actor up for the most challenging shoot of her career.
Variety spoke with Krieps ahead of her film’s world premiere on May 20.
What drew you to the role?
The film refuses easy slogans, so I saw honesty in it, and in the book. By honesty, I mean the courage to tell the truth, even when it’s uncomfortable. The film offers no easy answers nor absolution. This character isn’t a hero. She’s flawed and complex and real. She could have been written as a hip lesbian fashion icon, but that wouldn’t have worked. She is that to some, but she’s also just a mother, and she owns both parts of herself. That honesty makes her compelling.
Did you approach the role with greater honesty as well?
I had no idea what this film would become. I never really do—I prefer jumping into the unknown. But this one hit me hard. For two weeks, I was almost out, physically sick. I tapped into something raw and painful. It’s painful that we live in a world where honesty doesn’t always open doors. The character says, “I don’t want the money or the law career – I just want to live an honest life as a writer.” And that’s what society punishes her for. Not just for being a lesbian, but for stepping outside the system—which we’re not really allowed to do.
Have you felt that in your own life?
I make independent films, which is already tough in a superficial world. But this project struck me most deeply as a mother. That fear of losing your child is devastating. I haven’t lived my character’s story, but I’ve lived the doubt. As a single mother trying to survive without going the commercial route, I’ve asked myself, “Why am I doing this? Should I just do mainstream work so my kids have an easier life?” Sometimes I’ve felt judged for that. In German, there’s a word—ungeschützt—to be exposed. I know that feeling well. Society still doesn’t understand what it takes to raise two kids alone and keep making art. I felt that pain while playing her—so intense I thought I might dissolve.
How so?
This film pushed me to my limit. I didn’t crash, but I hit the wall. Two more films like this, and I’d be in serious trouble. My body broke down, I had sore muscles for no reason. I was in a state of total exhaustion. Around Christmas, I couldn’t move my arms or legs. I don’t know if it was physical or psychological, but my body just shut off, and I needed two months to recover. I hope I can finally let go once the film comes out, because making it brought little catharsis. Still, that’s also why I’m so grateful it’s going to Cannes. This is among the smallest, hardest films I’ve ever made, and Cannes giving it a platform means everything. These kinds of films need support to survive.
Apart from the emotional component, this was also a very physical role.
People assume actors have a lot of time to prepare, to learn to swim or whatever. Then you arrive and there’s no time, no money, and suddenly I had to jump in the pool and act like I’m a great swimmer. I do swim, but still. That’s acting. Same with the intimacy. I’m not a lesbian, I’m not used to the female body that way. I had to open myself to something unknown. I remember thinking—how can I relate to this body? How can I relate to breasts in a way that’s honorable, honest, respectful, and reads as truthful? And I told myself, “it’s just skin, and that’s just another person.” Bit by bit, it became real.
That’s why also what I mean by hitting a wall. I’ve explored what I needed to explore. Now, I want to do lighter work. I’ve turned down heavy projects—I can’t go there anymore. I’m looking for comedies.
Do you have any lined up?
I have two. First, a comedy inspired by Dostoevsky’s “The Idiot.” Then “Selma,” written by my longtime friend Govinda Van Maele. We started making horror films together at 15, and we also did “Gutland.” In “Selma,” I play a woman returning to Luxembourg after a failed German TV career. She moves into her late aunt’s house and joins a quirky theater club that claims to use a secret technique—turns out, it’s method acting, though they don’t know it. It’s really funny and sweet. And I’m so excited to act in Luxembourgish again!
You also act in French, German and English. You like to mix languages.
That’s my strength, and that’s the future. Whether we like it or not, the world’s becoming more international. My kids learn languages on Duolingo in two months. I’ve always seen language-switching as a kind of superpower. It lets me brush away my traces. When I started in Germany, people recognized me. Then I moved to French films—suddenly, I was a new face. Then “Phantom Thread” happened, and again, people asked, “Who’s she?” Switching languages keeps people from pinning me down.
And that’s important to you?
Very. My biggest fear is being trapped or pinned down. I have a visceral need for freedom, which comes in my roles. That comes from my grandfather, who survived a concentration camp. I’ve carried that knowledge since I was four. The idea of being locked in terrifies me.
English (US) ·