Director Agnes Jaoui’s follow-up to The Taste of Others is a thoughtful, affecting examination of how we imperfect humans see each other, even as we fail to see ourselves with the same clarity. It’s also about the power conferred upon, or seized by, those we seek to please, often largely undeserved. At once touching and disturbing, with recognition of the pervasive notion in modern society that what it takes to be noticed in this world is good looks, first and foremost. Jaoui peels back the surface to reveal the small and large hurts played out in daily angry outbursts by this dynamic.

The story centers on zaftig young Lolita Cassard, and her self-absorbed father. Lolita (Marilou Berry) is the elder daughter from a first marriage of middle age Etienne Cassard (Jean-Pierre Bacri), a successful writer and publisher. His young trophy wife, Karine (Virginie Desarnauts), and their pre-school daughter complete the household. The most affectionate name Etienne ever calls Lolita is his Big Girl, not without irony. The rest of the time, he notices her mainly as a gopher or handy babysitter and forgets much of what she says.

The ironically named Lolita has a lovely voice, porcelain complexion and raven hair, but is far from her father’s, or indeed her own, image of her sexy nymphet namesake. What she’s learned from her father is mostly how to let anger mask her desire for more rewarding connections. The fact that Etienne is famous (at least as an author whose books have been made into movies), as for the books themselves, this gives dimension to the closely related notion of how celebrity can distort accomplishments. Jaoui glides through a dark underside of relationships and how easy it is to jettison stale ones for greener pastures with alarming calm.

Jaoui, who co-wrote the screenplay with Bacri, also plays a leading role as Sylvia, a voice teacher, and wife of Pierre, a not so famous writer whose career could use a lift. In all of these roles Jaoui never falls prey to clichés or gets heavy handed with moralizing lessons. She lets the palpably real dialog and scenarios tell the tale. The ensemble of characters includes Felix, a fixture at Etienne’s side whose role is undefined (maybe as uncredited co-author of his books), and Sebastian, a shy, sweet young man infatuated with Lolita. For her part, Lolita can’t actually believe his declaration that he does not like skinny women or that he covets intimacy and not, like so many others, her father’s favor. She stammers and snacks and hides behind her hair, not trusting the foreign feeling that this cute guy really likes her.

Etienne is generous with the easy stuff, i.e. money, and what it can buy, but he has little comprehension of what matters to the people who care about him. Another irony and the flip side of Lolita’s perceived plainness is Karine’s archetypal contemporary good looks and the reality that they afford no protection against Etienne’s dismissiveness or wandering eye. Jaoui nails right on the head the logic behind the annoying habit of thin women to bemoan how fat they are. Instead of chiding them for it, she skillfully reveals what prompts such ludicrous remarks. No matter how good-looking, how rich or how thin, to men like Etienne, one may be ignored or replaced.