It is a summer of skin, silence, and a very specific kind of French detachment. When Young and Beautiful (originally titled Jeune & Jolie) premiered at the Cannes Film Festival in 2013, it felt like a grenade lobbed into the middle of the Croisette. People didn’t know whether to applaud the craft or recoil from the subject matter. Honestly, that’s exactly where François Ozon likes to live. He thrives in that uncomfortable space between fascination and judgment.
The film follows Isabelle, played by Marine Vacth in a performance that is basically a masterclass in opacity. She’s seventeen. She’s beautiful. She comes from a wealthy, stable Parisian family. And yet, she decides to start working as a high-end call girl. Why? That’s the question that drives the audience crazy. Ozon refuses to give you the easy out of a "trauma" backstory. There’s no drug habit to fund, no abusive stepfather, no desperate need for rent money. She just... does it. It’s a coming-of-age story stripped of its usual sentimentality and replaced with something much colder and, perhaps, more honest about the mysteries of teenage identity.
The Cold Reality of Young and Beautiful
Isabelle’s journey is structured through four seasons and four songs by Françoise Hardy. It’s a rhythmic, almost clinical observation. We see her first sexual experience while on a family vacation—a clunky, uninspired encounter on a beach that leaves her feeling nothing. This lack of "spark" seems to be the catalyst. If the romanticized version of sex is a lie, why not treat it as a transaction?
You've probably seen films that try to moralize this kind of behavior. Young and Beautiful doesn't bother. Isabelle creates an alter ego named Léa. She meets older men in hotels. She collects envelopes of cash and hides them under her bedroom floorboards. The money isn't the point, though. It’s the power of the secret. It’s the autonomy of owning a part of herself that her prying, middle-class parents can’t touch. Marine Vacth plays Isabelle with this incredible, stone-faced stillness. You’re constantly searching her eyes for a sign of regret or fear, but she rarely gives it to you. It’s haunting.
Critics like Robbie Collin from The Telegraph noted at the time that the film feels purposefully voyeuristic. We are watching her watch herself. There is a specific scene where Isabelle looks at her own body in a mirror after a session, and the camera lingers just a second too long. It makes you feel complicit. It makes you realize that the title isn't just a description; it’s a critique of how society views young women as objects of beauty before they are even allowed to be people.
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Why Isabelle Isn't the "Victim" You Expect
In most cinema, a teenage girl entering the world of sex work is a tragedy waiting to happen. Ozon subverts this. While there is a turning point involving a regular client—a gentlemanly older man who dies of a heart attack during one of their sessions—the fallout isn't what you’d expect. The police get involved. Her mother, played by Géraldine Pailhas, finds out. The family falls apart in a flurry of bourgeois panic and therapist appointments.
But Isabelle? She remains a cipher.
There’s a fascinating layer of E-E-A-T (Experience, Expertise, Authoritativeness, and Trustworthiness) to consider when analyzing Ozon’s filmography. He has spent decades dissecting the French family unit. From Sitcom to Under the Sand, he’s an expert at showing the rot beneath the polished surface. In Young and Beautiful, the "rot" isn't Isabelle’s sexuality; it’s the family’s inability to communicate. Her mother is more concerned with the "shame" of the situation than actually understanding her daughter’s psyche.
The Françoise Hardy Connection
The music isn't just background noise. Françoise Hardy’s melancholic 60s pop acts as a Greek chorus. Songs like "L'Amour d'un Garçon" and "Je Suis Moi" highlight the gap between the internal world of a girl and the external expectations placed on her. It’s nostalgic but biting. It reminds the viewer that "being seventeen" hasn't changed in fifty years, even if the tools—like internet dating sites and cell phones—have.
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- Summer: The loss of innocence (or the realization that innocence is a myth).
- Autumn: The routine of Léa. The professionalization of her body.
- Winter: The collapse. The confrontation with death and the law.
- Spring: A tentative, weirdly peaceful resolution.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Ending
People often walk away from Young and Beautiful feeling frustrated. They want Isabelle to cry. They want her to say she’s sorry. They want a "The End" that explains everything. But life doesn't work that way, and Ozon knows it. The final scene, featuring a brilliant cameo by Charlotte Rampling, is the only moment where Isabelle seems to connect with another human being on a soul level.
Rampling plays the widow of the client who died. It could have been a scene of confrontation or vitriol. Instead, it’s a moment of shared grief and recognition. Two women, at opposite ends of their lives, acknowledging the same man and the same strange, lonely intimacy. It’s arguably the most "beautiful" part of the film, and it has nothing to do with Isabelle’s youth.
The film isn't a "how-to" guide or a cautionary tale. It’s a character study of a person who refuses to be studied. If you go into it looking for a moral lesson, you’re going to be disappointed. If you go into it looking for a raw, unsentimental look at the power dynamics of beauty, you'll find it fascinating.
Actionable Insights for Cinephiles
If you’re planning to watch or re-watch Young and Beautiful, here is how to actually digest what Ozon is doing:
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- Watch the eyes, not the action. Marine Vacth’s performance is all about micro-expressions. Notice when she blinks and when she doesn't.
- Contextualize with "The Virgin Suicides." Compare how Sofia Coppola handles the "male gaze" versus how Ozon handles it. Coppola’s film is dreamlike and tragic; Ozon’s is sharp and clinical.
- Research the "Loi de Prostitution" in France. Understanding the legal and social climate in France regarding sex work in 2013 adds a lot of weight to the police interrogation scenes.
- Listen to the lyrics. If you don't speak French, look up the translations for the Françoise Hardy songs used in the film. They are literal roadmaps for Isabelle’s emotional state.
Ultimately, Young and Beautiful remains relevant because it refuses to blink. It captures that terrifying moment in late adolescence where you realize you have a body that the world wants, but a mind that the world doesn't yet care to understand. Isabelle takes the only thing she has—her image—and weaponizes it. It's not always pretty, but it's incredibly human.
To truly appreciate the nuance here, watch Ozon’s follow-up film, The New Girlfriend. It continues his exploration of gender and secret lives. Also, pay attention to the lighting. The cinematography by Pascal Marti moves from the overexposed, harsh sun of the south of France to the moody, shadow-heavy apartments of Paris. It’s a visual representation of Isabelle’s narrowing world.
Don't expect a happy ending. Expect a true one. Isabelle is still there, somewhere in Paris, probably still keeping secrets, and probably still refusing to explain herself to anyone. That’s the real power of the film. It leaves you with more questions than answers, which is exactly what great cinema is supposed to do.