Cycle of Time

There is a specific kind of vertigo that comes from watching a movie set in the "future" when that future is actually next Tuesday. In Vinciane Millereau’s Cycle of Time (2025), we get a front-row seat to the collision between the cigarette-smoke-stained elegance of 1950s France and the frantic, algorithm-driven anxiety of our current moment. I watched this in a half-empty theater while nursing a lukewarm bottle of sparkling water that cost more than my first car, and honestly, that sense of over-priced modern absurdity put me in exactly the right headspace for what this film is trying to do.

A Tale of Two Frances

The film kicks off with a gorgeously saturated, almost dreamlike depiction of the 1950s. Elsa Zylberstein plays Helene Dupuis, a woman whose biggest concern is the perfect roast, while her husband Michel, played by the legendary French comic Didier Bourdon, enjoys the unquestioned authority of the mid-century patriarch. They are the quintessential nuclear family, right up until a freak temporal accident—the kind of sci-fi "how" that the movie wisely breezes past—dumps them into 2025.

Suddenly, the "simple life" is replaced by a world of biometric scanners, gig-economy burnout, and children who speak in a dialect of TikTok slang and climate despair. What I found particularly sharp was how the film avoids the tired "what is this glowing box?" jokes. Instead, it leans into the psychological horror of a world that has replaced human connection with "connectivity." Vinciane Millereau, who also co-wrote the script with Julien Lambroschini, understands that the real shock of the future isn't the gadgets; it’s the pace.

The Great Role Reversal

The meat of the story lies in how the Dupuis family adapts—or fails to. In a delicious twist of social commentary, Helene doesn’t just survive the 21st century; she conquers it. Elsa Zylberstein is fantastic here, pivoting from a submissive housewife to a high-powered bank executive with a terrifyingly quick grasp of corporate jargon. There’s a scene where she looks at a spreadsheet with the same intense focus she used to give a sewing pattern, and it’s a brilliant bit of physical acting.

On the flip side, Didier Bourdon gives us a Michel who is utterly emasculated by the modern era. He’s unemployed, depressed, and haunted by a world that no longer needs a man whose primary skill is "having an opinion at the dinner table." Bourdon has always been a master of the "befuddled Frenchman" archetype (see his work in A Good Year or with the comedy troupe Les Inconnus), but here he adds a layer of genuine pathos. His face looks like a melting waxwork of the patriarchy, and you can't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him, even as you laugh at his inability to navigate a self-checkout lane.

Modernity through a Retro Lens

Visually, cinematographer Philippe Guibert does some heavy lifting to differentiate the eras without making it look like a cheap TV filter. The 1950s have a warm, tactile grain, while 2025 is shot with a clinical, blue-tinted sharpness that feels intentionally sterile. It reflects our current era of "The Volume" and virtual production—even if this film leans more on practical location shoots in Paris—capturing that sense of being trapped inside a very expensive, very cold smartphone.

The supporting cast, particularly Mathilde Le Borgne and Maxim Foster as the Dupuis children, Jeanne and Lucien, provide the necessary grounding. They aren't just "tech-addicted kids"; they are the products of a world that Helene and Michel essentially skipped. There’s an underlying sadness to their interactions; the kids are more mature than their parents, burdened by an awareness of the world's problems that their 1950s counterparts wouldn't have encountered until adulthood. Aurore Clément also shows up as Marguerite, offering a bridge between the generations that adds a much-needed touch of grace to the frantic comedy.

The Weight of Now

In our current era of "legacy sequels" and franchise fatigue, it’s refreshing to see a mid-budget French comedy tackle sci-fi themes without needing a cape or a laser sword. Cycle of Time is very much a product of the post-pandemic landscape, reflecting our collective exhaustion with "progress." It asks whether we’ve actually improved our lives or if we’ve just traded one set of shackles for another.

I’ll admit, the third act gets a little messy as it tries to tie up the time-travel logic, and the score by Romain Trouillet occasionally leans too hard into "whimsical comedy" territory when the script is actually being quite biting. But these are minor gripes. The film succeeds because it doesn't treat the 1950s with pure nostalgia, nor does it treat 2025 with pure cynicism. It’s a messy, funny, and occasionally profound look at the "now" through the eyes of the "then."

Ultimately, Cycle of Time is a reminder that while the technology changes, the domestic struggle remains the same. It’s a sharp satire that manages to be both a crowd-pleasing comedy and a slightly uncomfortable mirror. If you’ve ever felt like the modern world is moving just a little too fast for you to keep up, this movie will make you feel seen—and then it will make you want to put your phone in a drawer for an hour. Just make sure you remember where you put the charger.