It’s simple to mourn the alternate history where I came out as a teenager. It’s more complicated to mourn the alternate history where I came out later or not at all.

If I’d transitioned at 40 or never, I would have lived a much sadder life. But I also probably would have gotten married and had a child. I know I would’ve loved that child more than anything else in my life. I would’ve gone beyond the heteronormative duties of fatherhood and given everything I could have to that kid — just like I would’ve tried to be the best husband. There would have been limits. Maybe I could have been a good parent, a good partner, but my failures as a father and husband — whatever those gendered words mean — would’ve weighed on me and my hypothetical family. It would’ve been a worse life. And yet, I still sometimes mourn that normative way of being, that nonexistent child.

Léa Mysius’ fantastical new film The Five Devils is one of the most thought-provoking lesbian romances I’ve ever seen. It’s a love story, but it’s a love story told through the perspective of that hypothetical child — who in this case is not hypothetical, but the product of a tragedy that led three adults to live lives that in a just world they should’ve been able to avoid.

This child is Vicky (Sally Dramé), a girl with a superhuman sense of smell and endless curiosity. She doesn’t have any friends — the racist kids in her mostly white town bully her — opting to spend her time capturing smells in jars and helping out her swim coach mom. Vicky can tell her parents are not happy — but the reason why is only revealed when her aunt Julia arrives with a scent that knocks Vicky out and transports her (literally) to the past.

Vicky’s mom, Joanne, is played by Adèle Exarchopoulos, best known for her work in Blue is the Warmest Color. Talented young actresses who have made their start in controversial and sexual arthouse films have long been cast aside — especially when these experiences have involved abuse. It’s deeply meaningful to see her back in a queer movie, this time directed by a woman. Her performance here is proof that she’s worthy of celebration beyond her breakout role.

It has become common in recent lesbian cinema to have a white lead and a Black love interest — with race never being addressed and the love interest being a far less developed character. That’s not quite the case here. I’ll let other critics answer how the film captures the experience of being a Black child with a white mother, but I did appreciate that the film engages explicitly with race. It’s clear how being Black and from Senegal impacts Vicky’s dad, Jimmy,  in their small town. It’s also clear that Vicky’s aunt, Julia, has a slightly different experience having been born after their family came to France. And while the film primarily alternates between Vicky and Joanne’s perspectives, there are still moments taken with both Julia and Jimmy. It helps that Swala Emati as Julia and Moustapha Mbengue as Jimmy give beautiful performances that communicate much of what’s unspoken.

As Vicky begins transporting herself back to when her parents were teenagers, her family’s tragic past reveals itself. Joanne and Julia were lovers and faced a small town filled with homophobia, racism, and ableism. Then something happened, Julia went away, Joanne ended up with Julia’s brother, and Vicky was born.

Whenever Vicky travels back in time, Julia sees her. She reacts like any person might react when randomly seeing a child appear out of nowhere. This causes Julia to be labeled crazy by people in the town eager to find another way to other her. A lesser film would’ve saved the reveal that Vicky is the one causing her aunt to “go crazy.” Instead Mysius makes Vicky haunting Julia so she can be born the very plot of the movie.

This is complicated, narratively and thematically, but as the stories both past and present culminate, the film succeeds by living in that complexity. With a killer soundtrack, formal confidence, and strong performances, the film invites the audience to embrace the narrative’s chewiness. It’s at once a visceral cinematic experience and a work of art that demands post-viewing discussion.

There are so many different lives we can live. For many of us, as queer people, we have to let go of the lives we were raised to want as children. There is a loss to abandoning that normalcy — even if it’s surpassed by the exuberance of a life lived truly.

Every path we take, every life we live, has consequences. They also have gifts. The Five Devils understands what we have to lose — it also understands what we have to gain. It’s a celebration of queer life and all the gifts we might gather along the way.

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