To "call a cat a cat" is to talk plainly, frankly, express oneself effectively: the French equivalent of calling a spade a spade (not a shovel, garden tool, or weapon of potential mass destruction). So the original language title of Sophie Fillières' elegant comedy of manners becomes immediately ironic when her protagonist’s catalyst for personal development is her very dysfunctional inability to articulate – a major hindrance when her profession is that of a novelist. The solitary life of an author and the consequences of inspirationdeprivation is not uncommon subject matter in film (think awkward deviance in Kaufman’s Adaptation or escalating psychosis in Kubrick’s The Shining, to name but two male-led examples of the subgenre). Fillières' comedy drama, on the other hand, reinvents the theme of the frustrated writer, whose loss for words becomes increasingly manifest in everyday life, with a refreshing wit that pinpoints and satirises a particularly female fear of miscommunicating and being unheard. Mastroianni gives a deftly comic performance, successfully conveying the very mundane angst of the smart young writer Célimène – or Nathalie, depending on her mood. Célimène suffers from a tedious crisis of confidence, temporarily living with her laconic mother and precocious son while her Parisian apartment remains in what seems to be a permanent state of renovation. Whether spontaneously standing in the kitchen bin, unconsciously baking cakes, or voluntarily turning mute (frustrating even her therapist with that psychological tic), the burden of speech is drily deconstructed by Célimène/Nathalie’s increasing ineptitude – as well as a script that literalises idioms in almost every exchange. An unwelcome intrusion to Célimène's monotonous routine begins when an obsessive but benign adolescent groupie fixates upon her, intent on becoming the author’s next torture heroine. But, in the mould of the best friendships, what starts as an unlikely pairing eventually becomes a necessary creative crutch. With a range of facial expressions from doe-eyed bewilderment to resigned acceptance of the imprecision of language, Mastroianni proves a consummate comedienne – and reminds us that before every new novel there lies a very blank screen…