Merlant Rounds Up ‘The Balconettes’

Cinema | October 28th, 2025

By Greg Carlson

Noémie Merlant, working from a script she wrote with Pauline Munier and her “Portrait of a Lady on Fire” collaborator Celine Sciamma, directs herself in “The Balconettes” (the clever/cheeky English-language retitling of the original French “Les femmes au balcon”). An antic and frantic feminist horror-comedy thriller, “The Balconettes” nods to Hitchcock’s classic “Rear Window” by way of Pedro Almodovar’s many candy-colored visions of women on the edge. The movie begins with a tantalizing prologue in which a harried and victimized spouse named Denise (Nadege Beausson-Diagne) reaches a domestic breaking point that ends with the sharp edge of a dustpan connecting with the back of her awful husband’s cranium. The incident serves as an omen and a warning.

Denise’s apartment neighbor Nicole (Sanda Codreanu) is a writer whose imagination will soon kick into high gear and stay there. Frustrated and horny, Nicole works on her craft in what appears to be a largely worthless online group workshop with a paid “mentor,” even though the adventures about to unfold should offer more than enough inspiration for dynamic storytelling. Nicole’s roommate Ruby (Souheila Yacoub) is a free-spirited camgirl whose morning-after canoodling with a pair of lovers points to an appetite for polyamory in sync with the expressive pasties, mesh tops, piercings, and stick-on rhinestones that draw attention from online clients and those encountering her in the real-world.

Merlant’s sweaty Elise soon arrives from Paris to join her pals in Marseilles. An aspiring actor initially decked out like Marilyn Monroe, Elise struggles to communicate with Paul (Christophe Montenez), her drip of a husband who cannot leave her alone or respect her personal space and her physical body. Throughout all of the expository set-up, “The Balconettes” shows an abiding interest in the gender-specific power dynamics that soon take up the principal plotline. Following a sexual assault that unites the trio in a farcical and outré mission to dispose of the deceased rapist’s corpse, Merlant elects to spin several plates at once.

While there is no doubt that Merlant could have used some of Sciamma’s more sophisticated filmmaking skills in the execution of the movie, “The Balconettes” digs into its world with considerable audacity. If we can suspend enough disbelief to accept that the women would make the questionable decision to not call the police, other threads make just as much narrative sense — even when Merlant fails to fully engage or drill down. For example, Nicole is pestered by visions of the ghosts of abusive men in an intriguing premise for a writer seeking her voice. It’s a strong enough idea to support more prominent exploration.

Overall, Merlant’s “see what sticks” approach strikes enough satisfying notes to recommend the film, culminating with some body-positive, free-the-nipple energy that struts proudly through the denouement . Visual expressions of sweltering heat waves invoking mercury-busting emotional intensity have been a filmmaking staple for decades; think of the perspiration on display in “Lawrence of Arabia,” “A Streetcar Named Desire,” “Cool Hand Luke,” “Body Heat,” “Do the Right Thing,” “Barton Fink” and “Rear Window.” “The Balconettes” doesn’t reach the same rewatchability of any of those titles, but you’ll still want to mop your brow.

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