My Sole Desire (2023)

My Sole Desire is special because it treats a Paris strip club not as a punchline or a spectacle, but as a workplace and a stage where real people negotiate intimacy, ambition, and self-respect. Lucie Borleteau films the “high concept” performances with an unshowy confidence, letting the glow, music, and choreography create a dreamy vibe while the backstage moments stay grounded, funny, and quietly tender. Louise Chevillotte’s Manon drifts in with open curiosity, and the connection she forms with Zita Hanrot’s Mia lands with the kind of lived-in chemistry that makes the film feel subtle, intelligent, and, yes, a little heartbreaking. It isn’t for viewers uncomfortable with nudity or frank eroticism, but if you’re open to a sensual drama that’s more compassionate than provocative, it’s a deeply human watch.

My Sole Desire aims for an intimate, character-first look at desire and female camaraderie inside a Paris strip club, treating the work as craft rather than cheap shock. The problem is it often feels like it’s circling its themes instead of landing them: the pacing is slow, the story drifts, and by the final act you may wonder what point it’s building toward. Despite the setting and nudity, it’s more subdued than sexy, and the club world can come off a bit polished or sanitized rather than raw and revelatory. If you like quiet, observational dramas with strong atmosphere and gentle performances, it may work for you; if you want a sharper narrative, a bolder edge, or genuine erotic charge, this likely won’t deliver.