Persistent Handyman Fantasies
What is it about 30-something Quebecoise filmmakers and their fascination with the same stale porn trope, in which wives who feel overlooked or unfulfilled discover that their sexual desires can be reignited by a handsome handyman? This theme appeared in 2023 when Monia Chokri’s rather average dramedy, “The Nature of Love,” was showcased at Cannes and went on to receive a César for best foreign film. Now, director Chloé Robichaud—who previously made “Sara Prefers to Run”—brings “Two Women” to the Sundance World Dramatic competition. This new offering stands as a reimagining of the cult 1970 Québec sex romp, “Deux femmes en or,” yet the result is a cringeworthy and unconvincing remake, lacking in fresh perspective.
It is worth noting that screenwriter-producer Catherine Léger successfully adapted the same material for the stage, crafting a production that evidently included a sharper dose of irony. Unfortunately, that tongue-in-cheek element seems glaringly absent from this earnest, naturalistic retelling. Two Women sincerity ultimately undermines the playful, irreverent tone that might otherwise suit a story about restless spouses finding inspiration in extramarital attraction. Instead, the narrative feels heavy-handed and struggles to inject nuance into an already overused setup, leaving viewers with an unpersuasive scenario.

Nevertheless, Two Women two principal actors, Karine Gonthier-Hyndman and Laurence Leboeuf, do deliver dedicated performances, providing moments that reveal some emotional complexity. Their efforts inject a small measure of interest into an otherwise lackluster take on overfamiliar material. That said, no amount of committed acting can fully compensate for the tonal inconsistency or the film’s difficulty in balancing earnestness with a story that is inherently ripe for satire. Despite the obvious desire to modernize a vintage Quebec classic, “Two Women” remains an uneven cinematic attempt to resurrect a piece of 1970s sexual liberation, ultimately missing the ironic bite that might have made it compelling.
Bonding Over Dissatisfaction
Most of the story unfolds within a dreary eco-housing cooperative on the outskirts of Montreal, where the tight spaces seem to magnify every sensation of confinement. Translator Florence (Karine Gonthier-Hyndman) shares a common wall with Violette (Laurence Leboeuf), who has just become a mother. Both women have experienced psychological strain since entering motherhood, and their cramped surroundings only intensify the feeling that they are hemmed in by daily obligations. In this claustrophobic atmosphere, they confide in each other about the lack of fulfillment in their sex lives, and eventually decide to take action to change it.
Their connection strengthens as they reveal deeper frustrations. Florence has been in a relationship for several years with David (Mani Soleymanlou), an uninspiring tech enthusiast who oversees the cooperative’s greenhouse initiative. Meanwhile, Violette wrestles with the lingering stress of caring for an infant, battling her own worries about intimacy and identity. The realization that both of them feel stuck propels them to share more vulnerable confessions about the ways motherhood has challenged their emotional well-being. This newfound bond rests on the notion that they can—together—seek a more satisfying sense of desire and pleasure.
Years Without Intimacy
It soon emerges that Florence’s physical relationship with David has dwindled to almost nothing, a reality that leaves her restless. Even her 10-year-old son Max (Mateo Laurent Menbreño Daigle) unwittingly highlights the tension by maintaining a caged hamster, also named Florence, which once devoured her own babies. That grim parallel underscores how trapped the human Florence feels in her current life, especially since she has been on antidepressants for years. She can still recall the period when she was far more impulsive and fun-loving, yet these memories seem distant now. In a jarring choice, she decides to abandon her medication, prompting David to start taking the same pills himself. He then delivers what might be the film’s wittiest remark—though it reflects a modest kind of humor—by telling her that their relationship only works smoothly if at least one of them remains medicated.
This line, “Our relationship works best when one of us is on antidepressants,” encapsulates the offbeat tone that pervades the film. Even though the subject matter delves into serious issues such as postpartum challenges, mental health struggles, and marital boredom, the script occasionally indulges in awkward moments of wit that highlight the characters’ resignation. Florence’s decision to reconnect with the wilder aspects of her personality collides with David’s sudden desire to avoid any emotional turbulence, resulting in a dynamic that feels both stifling and comical. As Florence and Violette move forward with their plan to resolve their sexual dissatisfaction, the oppressive environment of the coop and the weight of lingering anxieties serve as constant reminders that the path to personal freedom can be as absurd as it is liberating.
Lingering Doubts
Petite, blonde Violette feels profoundly dissatisfied with her situation at home. She spends her days alone with her baby, drifting in and out of restless thoughts, certain she can hear people having loud sex somewhere nearby—although she occasionally wonders if it might just be the cawing of crows. At the same time, she cannot shake the unsettling feeling that her husband, Benoit (Félix Moati), a smooth yet smarmy pharmaceutical salesman, is sleeping with his colleague, Eli (Juliette Gariépy), during every possible out-of-town conference. This suspicion gnaws at Violette, amplifying her frustration and fueling an urgent need to confirm her suspicions or find relief from them.
Before long, a muscular technician from the Angels of Extermination appears, climbing a ladder in Violette’s home in an attempt to trace the source of the strange noises she has been hearing. His presence instantly captures her attention, as well as that of Florence, the neighbor who has already been wrestling with her own feelings of discontent. Together, they can’t help but zero in on the man’s physique, drawn to his broad back as though spotting an unexpected thrill in an otherwise mundane day. Meanwhile, Florence offers her own theory by confidently proclaiming that monogamy was invented for men, an opinion that intrigues Violette and adds a new dimension to her already simmering doubts.
Crude Seductions
Once they fixate on this exterminator’s physical appeal, an opportunity arises for something neither woman had previously considered. In a sudden rush of misguided enthusiasm, they embrace the idea that a series of handy workers might deliver the excitement they have been missing. This leads to crude and awkward seductions that unfold with little humor, prompting a range of reactions from secondhand embarrassment to outright discomfort. While the women seem eager to assert control over their bodies and pleasure, these encounters lack any genuine spark of playfulness, leaving the scenes heavy with cringe-worthy energy. Far from offering genuine liberation, these trysts seem more like desperate attempts to fill an emotional void.

Even as Violette and Florence indulge in this misguided plan, the underlying tensions remain visible. Violette’s relentless suspicion toward Benoit continues to gnaw at her conscience, and Florence’s bold claim about monogamy lingers like an untested hypothesis. The path the two friends embark upon hints at the complexities hidden beneath their straightforward pursuit of sexual satisfaction, especially as their chosen methods do not yield the thrill or relief they might have expected. Instead, the entire venture becomes an uncomfortable exercise in misguided experimentation, raising unsettling questions about the real motivations and the lasting effects of this new course they have decided to chart.
Unfulfilled Feminist Vision
Why set out to remake a sex comedy through a feminist lens if the leading female characters never truly gain any substance or backbone? This is the immediate question that arises when we see how Two Women neglects to reveal meaningful details about Violette’s professional ambitions. Although viewers are told she will someday return to her job, there is no mention of what that job actually involves. Instead, the story devotes multiple scenes to her odd compulsion of sharing too much personal information on Facebook, a habit that feels disconnected from any deeper statement about female empowerment. The potential for a reimagined feminist perspective quickly fades, leaving the women in a rather undeveloped state.
Additionally, while Florence appears more intellectually inclined—regularly reading feminist theory and expounding on the concept of sexual energy—the film never shows the outcome when she does finally opt to change her life path. There is a definite sense that her thoughts are loaded with potential, but the narrative does not grant her the screen time needed to explore this new direction. Rather than witnessing a radical transformation or even a small personal victory, the audience sees this promising trajectory abruptly cut off. That oversight undermines the notion that this particular remake was designed to champion female perspectives in any substantive manner.
Surprising Strength in the Mistress
Meanwhile, the most modern, liberated, and overtly independent woman in the entire storyline appears to be Eli, the individual with whom Benoit is having an affair. This development takes a puzzling turn, as the spouse and neighbor remain confined to their unfulfilled arcs, whereas the third-party love interest exudes a sense of agency and confidence. It is an odd contrast that makes the film’s supposed feminist intentions feel even more muddled. If the goal was to reshape a classic sex comedy into something more attuned to a female viewpoint, viewers might reasonably expect the main characters to embody that growth, rather than a peripheral figure who occupies a side relationship.
Among the few redeeming qualities in this remake is the gorgeous 35mm cinematography by Sara Mishara (“Viking”). Through glittering nighttime images, she provides glimpses of Montreal’s skyline, capturing the interplay of commuter trains and the lively scenes of children at play. These visual moments expand the otherwise narrow focus of the story, lending some fresh energy to a narrative that remains predominantly housebound. Her cinematographic style stands out as a brief but vital highlight, offering an evocative portrait of the city and its textures. Unfortunately, this aesthetic polish does not compensate for the absence of a truly empowering arc for the film’s primary female characters.
