Marion Hansel’s Tenderness is an epiphanic episode, quiet, delicate, even tender. A couple 15 years divorced reunite to bring back their ski-instructor son, injured in a skiing accident.
As the ex-couple drive to get the son they tease each other over their old differences. But their son’s new girlfriend has never seen such different people so obviously still in love. The wife drives her son’s van back to their home, so she’s removed from her ex though following him. When she picks up a hitchhiker, she’s touched by his parting note: “I think you’re beautiful.”
The father has a new wife. The mother has instead learned to enjoy her solitude. A night trip up the mountain makes her love the mountain she used to hate. Their son's girlfriend has ambitions which may leave him behind. In both relationships, though, the affection and tenderness seem secure whatever the changing terms of their connection.
While the narrative is largely told in close-ups and tight interiors, the opening isolates the small human figures against vast icy spaces. To that cold cosmos our tenderness is a vital response.
While the narrative is largely told in close-ups and tight interiors, the opening isolates the small human figures against vast icy spaces. To that cold cosmos our tenderness is a vital response.
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