Can two strangers from diametrically opposing and irreconcilable backgrounds meet on common ground? Not likely. But in Maxime Giroux’s Felix and Meira — which will be screened by the Toronto Jewish Film Festival’s Chai Tea & A Movie series on Sunday, Dec. 14 at 1 p.m. and 4 p.m. — all things are possible.
The strangers in question could not be more different. Indeed, they can only relate to each other like aliens, at least at the outset.
Meira, or Malka, as she is sometimes called, lives in Montreal’s cloistered ultra-Orthodox community in Mile End, where generations of Jews have been born and raised. Meira (Hadas Yaron), the mother of a toddler, is beautiful and unfulfilled. As her chassidic husband (Luzer Twersky) rings in the sabbath with the usual sing-song prayers, she sits at the table with a blank, unhappy expression on her face.
Felix (Martin Dubreuil), a French Canadian bachelor in his late 30s or early 40s, resides in the same neighborhood and frequents a kosher cafe there. He’s estranged from his father, who’s dying in hospital.
Felix sets eyes on Meira for the first time in that cafe, but it’s debatable whether he makes even the slightest impression. Women like Meira are allowed to make eye contact only with their husbands and members of their family.
As viewers wonder how the pair can ever meet, Giroux fills in a few essential blanks in their respective lives.
Sitting at home alone with her baby girl, Meira plays a soul music record. Ultra-Orthodox women normally don’t tune in to secular culture, but Meira breaks the mould of this orthodoxy. Her prim and proper husband disapproves of her musical tastes. “It’s unworthy of you,” he admonishes her. “Stop acting like a child.” He clearly does not understand that Meira is rebelling and marching to a different drummer.
Still in the midst of mourning his father’s death, Felix passes Meira on the street and asks if she has any religious advice for him. She has none, though she expresses mumbled condolences. A few days elapse and she offers to discuss the topic of death with him. Felix, struck by her mood swing, says, “You’re strange, you’re weird.” She counters with identical reproving words.
This exchange is telling, signifying the obvious. Here are two lonely people reaching out and finding that their grasp exceeds their reach. Nonetheless, Felix extends a hand of friendship.”My door is always open to you,” he says.
Meira remains silent, but she’s suffering inside. Recognizing her unhappiness, one of Meira’s friends thinks the solution to her problem is to have more children. She, too, is oblivious to what ails Meira. Meanwhile, Meira’s strait-laced husband voices concern that her strange behavior threatens to upend their marriage.
Giroux, at this juncture, cuts to the core. In successive scenes, Meira drops her reticence and implicitly comes on to Felix.
Bearing a gift, she asks Felix whether she can listen to her favorite music in his flat. As she does so, Meira wonders out loud what it would be like to be single. They meet again, and this time she discloses her interest in art. Their meetings are purely social, but Meira has already crossed a red line. Giroux directs these scenes with a high degree of restraint.
Felix and Meira, which unfolds in English, French and Yiddish, switches course rather radically at this point. Suddenly, they’re standing on the deck of a ferry boat in New York City. As they admire the skyline, they clutch hands. Back at their hotel room, she changes into tight pants. He takes her to a dance club and she radiates happiness. Meira is finally in her element. “I wish this night would never end,” she gushes.
What transpires next is not what you might naughtily assume. Giroux’s self-control is admirable.
It’s clear by now that Meira has emerged from her sectarian shell and is ready to make a break with the past. Giroux handles this transition with tact and sensitivity, but Meira’s transformation strains the bounds of plausibility.
Hadas Yaron, who portrayed an ultra-Orthodox woman in the Israeli movie Fill the Void, acquits herself with aplomb as Meira. Beyond an occasional pallid smile or gesture, she keeps her emotions under wraps. Dubreuil, too, is a study in repression.
There are no neat and tidy resolutions here, but how can there be? Worlds collide as two star-crossed lovers cope with the fallout.
Back to back screenings