OVER THE LAST year we’ve had to reconsider our definition of what makes a “sacred space.” When churches and temples closed due to the pandemic, our homes became places of worship for many of us.
This cemented what’s always been true: Sacred space is a fluid thing. It can be a place of deep personal meaning or shared memories with people we care about. A sacred space doesn’t even need to be a physical location. It could also be the spiritual space created whenever we’re with those we love or remember people we’ve lost.
Céline Sciamma’s tender film Petite Maman speaks to this. A little girl, Nelly (Joséphine Sanz) and her mother, Marion (Nina Meurisse), grieve the death of Marion’s mother and clean out Marion’s childhood home. Sciamma’s movie becomes a meditation on everyday sacred spaces, including those that can exist within mother-daughter relationships.
After her grandmother dies, 8-year-old Nelly accompanies Marion to the house to prepare it to sell. Grief quickly overwhelms Marion, who abruptly departs, leaving Nelly and her dad (Stéphane Varupenne) to finish up. While exploring the nearby woods, Nelly meets a little girl, also named Marion (Gabrielle Sanz), who strongly resembles Nelly. When Marion invites Nelly over for lunch, Nelly realizes that her new friend is her mother as a child, and the woman serving them is her grandmother.
As Nelly navigates the past and present versions of her mother’s home, Sciamma shows us subtle details of how the house has evolved. The wallpaper changes. Toys and pieces of decor are switched out or put away. Nelly regards all of it with quiet curiosity as she interacts with places, objects, and events that before she only knew from her mother’s stories.
The house and the memories it holds are precious to Nelly and Marion. So is their relationship, with the chemistry strengthened by casting Joséphine and Gabrielle Sanz, real-life sisters, in those roles. Sciamma uses natural lighting and warm, autumnal tones that feel both sentimental and unvarnished—a metaphor for how spiritual encounters or cherished memories can feel fleeting or incredible, yet rooted in truth.
At 72 minutes, Petite Maman is more a poem than a film, a brief glimpse into a pivotal moment in its characters’ lives. Sciamma’s exploration of memory, space, and relationship communicates the sacred present in the mundane, in ways we don’t often notice until they’re gone. The film suggests that if we look at experiences and people in our lives more expansively, we can be fully present in those hallowed moments.
Abby Olcese is a freelance film critic and writer based in Missouri. You can find her on Twitter @abbyolcese.
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