Q&A WITH LOUISE HÉMON

Q. Your film feels incredibly lived-in. How much research did you undertake to realize this period-accurate vision of an alpine village in 1899?

A. I come from a family with several generations of schoolteachers sent to the Alps during the long winter months for their first assignments. Like Aimée, my heroine, these young women, driven by secular and republican ideals, were assigned to teach children to read and write… before the snow melted and they returned to help their parents with the farm work. 

My imagination was immersed in these winter stories and I had been given a lot of documents and images about mountain life. My great-grand-aunt — called Aimée! — wrote an anthropological account for the Revue de géographie alpine, which is a treasure for me. In the winter of 1922, this young schoolteacher described the life and customs of an isolated mountain hamlet, encircled by snow and avalanches. We learn that, every day, the men lounged in the same spot to “listen to the sun” as its rays passed between the peaks — an anecdote that inspired one of the scenes in my film. 

Another treasure: my grandfather wrote a short story entitled A Coffin on the Roof. It tells the story of a group of mountain dwellers who, to the astonishment of their new teacher, fix a coffin on the school roof, waiting for the spring thaw to bury it… These documents were the starting point for writing the film.

Q. The lowlight cinematography in The Girl in the Snow results in several stunning compositions. How did you and DP Marine Atlan settle on the look of the film?

A. Marine Atlan shot most of my short films. On set, we know each other by heart. For The Girl in the Snow, I had a very specific wish: I wanted the audience to see as people of the time saw. So, inside the houses, people saved on expensive candles and crowded around one fireplace. The windows were very narrow so as not to let in the cold. Very few sources of light. You never see everything. A sense of mystery prevails. Whereas outside, it’s the white of the snow, almost bluish, that dazzles us. By day, anyway! At night, as our access to electricity was very limited, we made the Moon our best ally. Because when the Moon does its job, the snow cover acts as a giant reflector, offering natural day-for-night! It’s crazy to watch. 

That’s what I was looking for in the film: strangeness had to emerge from reality. That was really the key word. And I think Marine seized on it with finesse. She says we couldn’t have made the film like that 10 years ago… We would have had to add lots of projectors. So we thank today’s hyper-sensitive digital cameras! Modern advances in digital technology allow us to rethink period film: it’s a wonderful paradox. Marine’s exceptional work was rewarded with a nomination for the 2026 César Awards in the Best Cinematography category.

Q. Questions of sex and emancipation are central to the film’s main character. Why did you want to explore these topics against a period background?

A.  It’s true that when I first started writing the script, some male readers said to me: “But it’s not possible for a young girl of that era to have a sexuality!” No doubt, because the only image they could come up with was of a “white goose” too tightly bound in her corset, fainting at the slightest annoyance! Yet Flaubert’s Madame Bovary sleeps with three men and fantasizes under her sheets.

I find — and I’m far from alone — that there’s a huge gap in the representation of women’s sexuality, particularly in this era. Look at all the “forgotten” artists, thinkers and scientists we’re rediscovering today. It’s a brilliant playground for cinema! I created the character of Aimée to take part in this in my own way, based on my own personal universe, that of the mountains.

Q. What is the last film you saw and loved?

A. L’Homme d’argile by the french director Anaïs Tellenne. We met a few years ago in a script lab and since I really liked her vision of cinema, she became the co-writer of The Girl in the Snow. Her film is an uncut gem: it is a labyrinthine and fascinating work that plunges us into the troubled mind of a tortured artist and an unwitting model.  

Q.  Is there anyone in particular whom you’d love to work with?

A.  In the U.S., I would love to have the opportunity to meet and talk with director Kelly Reichardt. I deeply love her films and Meek’s Cutoff is a masterpiece that I watched over and over again before shooting my film.​​

Q. Where have you found inspiration that people might not necessarily expect?

A. Caves! Near my parents’ house, caves are fascinating places in the heart of the mountains. It’s playful, because the sounds bounce off the walls and resonate in the darkness. So in The Girl in the Snow, when Aimée enters and hears two young men moaning with pleasure, I opted for suggestion, because sound encourages the imagination.

I find it interesting that the viewer scrutinizes the darkness, driven by his or her own impulse. On the set, I called it the “voyeurism through the ears” scene. Aimée looks embarrassed, but at the same time she’s curious. I wanted us to be totally riveted to her emotions.

Q. What’s the last movie that made you laugh?

A. Not a movie, but a documentary series about Martin Scorsese. Realizing that even for a genius like him every stage of his filmmaking career remains a never-ending battle, with crazy and tragicomic twists and turns, that was hilarious to me. But more of a nervous laugh I guess!

Q. What image would you like to end this interview with?

A. The Girl in the Snow by on-set photographer Juliette Pascal.