It’s a fleeting, impermanent moment. At a concert, Fleur (Nina Meurisse) locks eyes with Julian (Laurence Roothooft) just as she takes her seat, and suddenly a spark takes hold. The fascination and mutual attraction quickly becomes a courtship, then a sudden engagement toast over dinner with friends. As the pair celebrate the news, Fleur interrupts the revelry with a declaration: she and her soon-to-be wife won’t just marry in France––they’ll marry in every country that recognizes same-sex unions, all 22 of them. A chance connection, they decide, can double as a statement. Their love might be impulsive, but it doesn’t have to be quiet.
The unique, noteworthy decision to pursue what Fleur labels “Project 22” offers the initial narrative thrust to Julian. But director Cato Kusters’ politically charged and moving real-life portrait of love turns into one of loss and memory preservation. Almost as soon as it begins, the pair’s year-and-a-half travelogue takes a detour when Julian receives a terminal-cancer diagnosis. Rather than lay out this news in linear, melodramatic fashion, Kusters makes the bold choice to move back and forth through time, cutting between the couple’s early marital bliss and Fleur’s widowed existence through camcorder videos, laptop screens, and FaceTimes.
The plot device (at least initially) casts some mystery onto Julian’s fate, turning the story into a momentary guessing game that ultimately serves to illuminate their time together, prevent the familiar beats of a cancer tale, and reflect the anxiety around Fleur’s later decision to share their shortened love story with the world. Each piece of this puzzle feels carefully calibrated. The fragments of memories take on specific meaning through archived phone videos, but feel more tender and impactful when witnessed in real time from another angle. Kusters challenges your first impressions, then provides them context, illuminating their importance with the change in perspective.
As the movie oscillates between time periods and tone, it puts both women’s personalities and backgrounds into greater relief. More masculine in look and nature, Julian is less forward in social settings and more deferential to the project as a whole––perhaps a self-aware indication of her own sickness, or the direct result of having such little family support as a gay woman. Fleur accordingly takes a more proactive approach to their activism, further emboldened by her parents’ approval and acceptance. The journalist can’t secure funding from her newspaper, but spends her time organizing and planning the itinerary and vendors for each country’s ceremony and celebration. As Julian’s sickness grows, the pair’s ambition and outlook begin to bifurcate.
Adapted from Fleur Pierets’ acclaimed memoir, Julian never lets us forget the reasoning behind Project 22, and Kusters continually captures the challenges of living an outwardly queer life. These aren’t bold acts of discrimination so much as small slights––pedestrians eyeballing them on the bus, or vendors refusing to make exceptions based on riotous protests around pride celebrations. As Julian’s condition worsens, Fleur must pivot from communications liaison to crisis management, grappling in real time with the importance of their message and being present for the woman encouraging her to find love again.
The chemistry between Roothooft and Meurisse, who has recently risen as a French star from work with Céline Sciamma and Boris Lojkin, anchors this tension and gives the third act its emotional core. To make sure Julian’s death isn’t in vain, Fleur decides to give a presentation in New York, a way to showcase the archived footage she collected and make good on their activism. Though 28 countries have now passed laws to allow gay marriage, it remains a sensitive legal subject in the United States. Kusters’ debut shows just how personal––and painful––those political decisions can be, and the love stories they attempt to deny.
Julian premiered at the 2025 Toronto International Film Festival.