Cézanne et Moi — A Tale of Two Artists and a Friendship in Flux 

I don’t know whether artists have more interesting or tumultuous friendships than anyone else. I would suspect that they don’t. Most of us have one or two friends with whom we often disagree, and who contribute to a disproportionate share of animated, existential, and emotionally-taxing conversations. 

That said, there can be something particularly juicy and intriguing about a friendship involving two artists—especially two artists of the caliber of Émile Zola and Paul Cézanne: the first a genius in storytelling, the other a genius in painting. 

Zola, of course, achieved considerable success during his lifetime. Cézanne did not. While the former published novel after novel (many to considerable acclaim), and carried out a relatively normal domestic life, Cézanne struggled for recognition and lived on an emotional precipice of dread, resentment, and crippling angst. 

These were undoubtedly two great artists, but they lived very different lives—and their incredibly fractious friendship reflected that. 

The greatest fissure occurred when Zola published The Masterpiece, a novel about a struggling painter who fails to live up to his potential, and who consequently deteriorates from the inside out.  

If that sounds maybe a bit like Cézanne, that’s precisely the way that Cézanne himself interpreted it. As a consequence, he was livid with his dear friend. He castigated him and wondered how he could write such an offensive and appalling story. Ultimately he came to the conclusion that Emile Zola—whom he had known since late childhood—was no longer someone he was interested in speaking to. The friendship was effectively terminated.  

Such dramatic events don’t take place out of the blue. In fact, the weight of such an event can only be the result of a long and dynamic history between two friends—ones who have shared a rich and tangled web of memories, hopes, and fears.   

Cezanne et Moi, directed by Danièle Thompson, dramatizes some of their important moments—from their social gatherings with other contemporary up-and-coming artists (Manet and Maupassant, among them) to their fractious quarrels over the same woman. And a great deal else. 

Near the beginning of the film, we see Émile and Paul as mere school boys. The latter, a fairly confident and brawny fellow, defends the new-student Zola during a school yard scuffle. Immediately afterwards, the two adolescents shake hands. The following day, Émile shows up at the opulent family home of Cezanne, basket of apples in hand: it’s a gesture of thanks (courtesy of Zola’s mother) for his school yard chivalry. And so begins a very long and complicated friendship.  

Their youthful years were infused with the fresh air of southern France, where they swam and played and talked and dreamed under gloriously sunny skies. (Nearly every outdoor scene in the film is candy for the eyes.) Art in particular was of special interest; the power of Alexandre Dumas, Victor Hugo, and other French artistic giants held sway over their young minds.  

From this standpoint, the two were on even ground. In terms of other factors, however, the contrasts were night and day.

Cézanne’s father was a successful banker, a man principally concerned with wealth and social standing. He not only disapproved of his son’s aspirations, but frequently considered his wanna-be-painter son to be a blight on the family—a genuine embarrassment. 

Cézanne, quite understandably, struggled throughout his life to surmount these difficult feelings. Nonetheless, if paternal approval was lacking, the young painter knew that his family was well off. At the end of the day, he would have at least some kind of safety net. 

Not so for Emile Zola. The death of his father, when Emile was still a boy, meant difficult years ahead for him and his mother. At times, it was a hand-to-mouth existence. (An apocryphal story has it that Zola would sometimes eat sparrows out of sheer hunger.) True or not, there were many desperate years.    

But Zola, through his indefatigable work ethic—his Rogan-Macquart series alone amounted to twenty lengthy novels—clawed his way out of an impoverished state. Success may have come gradually, but in the end, it did come—even if Zola was still derided by more than a few critics.    

Indeed, Zola became successful enough financially that he and his wife, Alexandrine, could move into a very spacious and beautiful home in Medan, in the 1870s—the location in which the film opens.  

Later in the film, but during the same time frame, Cézanne—typical of his sometimes callous personality—goes on a harangue against his friend for ostensibly becoming part of the dreadful bourgeois. A large and beautiful home? A maid to help clean and pick produce from the garden? Moderate recognition from critics? 

All utter and vile blasphemy—at least according to a frustrated and emotionally-worn out Cézanne. 

Ultimately, these were over-the-top criticisms. Nonetheless, Zola was hardly immune to his own worries and struggles as an artist (even though, at least in this film, Cézanne is the overwhelming purveyor of all things angst and discontent).

Indeed, one of the most obvious dynamics in the movie is the lopsidedness in which  Cézanne and Zola deal with their inner troubles. Cézanne is portrayed as a highly emotional and unpredictable firecracker, while Zola is portrayed as a fairly judicious and even-keeled man. 

The actual truth is probably more nuanced, but that doesn’t take away from one of the most powerful dynamics of the film: two intimate friends experiencing the many ebbs and flows of life. 

Cezanne et Moi, if you put aside the fact that it involves two extremely talented individuals, is a wholly relatable story of friendship. The ingredients are all there: two friends who connect at a young age, share creative visions, and who go on to experience all the vagaries, frustrations, and mysteries of life. 

While a few scenes in this otherwise absorbing film feel flat, it’s well acted throughout.  Guillaume Canet plays the patient and hardworking Zola, while Guillaume Gallienne takes on the role of the cantankerous but brilliant Cézanne. Throughout the film’s two-hour runtime, it feels like we’re onlookers to a true friendship—one that is joyous, chaotic, transcendent. 

Indeed, for viewers who might stumble across this film without knowing anything of these two artists, it probably won’t matter. The power of the film lies much less in the artistic details of Zola and Cézanne, and far more in the rich and utterly messy drama which unfolds between them.