THE STORY – Fleur and Julian fall madly in love and decide to get married in all countries where they, as two women, are allowed to do so. After only four marriages, their journey comes to a painful and unexpected halt.
THE CAST – Nina Meurisse & Laurence Roothooft
THE TEAM – Cato Kusters (Director/Writer) & Angelo Tijssens (Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 91 Minutes
There are moments in life that begin with a single, charged glance, and suddenly everything changes. “Julian” opens with just that: Fleur and Julian (Nina Meurisse and Laurence Roothooft), two women who lock eyes as they pass each other at a concert hall, and in that instant, the world shifts. So deeply does Fleur fall into the moment that she later admits she remembers none of the music, only Julian. It’s a cinematic spark so vivid, it leaps off the screen and settles in your chest. It’s the promise of something extraordinary.
From this fateful encounter unfolds a romance both intimate and ambitious. Cato Kusters’ debut feature, adapted from Fleur Pierets’ memoir, never loses sight of the love story at its heart. But it’s also something larger: a meditation on activism, memory, and loss. The couple’s passion doesn’t just remain between them; it radiates outward, becoming the core of a global mission.
After announcing their marriage to friends, Fleur proposes an idea that will become their shared legacy: Why not marry in every country where same-sex marriage is legal? “You want a good story or not?” she says to her editor at the publication where she works. Thus begins what they call “Project 22” – named after the number of countries where same-sex marriage was legal in 2017. What follows is a love story told through weddings, travel, and advocacy, as they crisscross cities like New York, Amsterdam, and Paris, chasing both legal recognition and the joy of declaring their love.
Kusters employs a warm, personal visual language that deepens our immersion. Homemade footage is layered throughout; home videos are handheld fragments that feel both cinematic and deeply human. We’re granted front-row access to Fleur and Julian’s private world: moments filled with laughter, and moments of teasing affection. Their connection is magnetic, unguarded, tender.
And yet, even amid joy, a sadness looms. The film’s nonlinear structure, moving freely between the early days of love, the heights of “Project 22,” and its heartbreaking end, mirrors the way memory works: flickering, disordered, aching. We know how this story will end before it even really begins. That foreknowledge laces the film with melancholy, but also deepens the love we witness.
A compelling sequence shows Fleur, two years after starting this journey, preparing to give a lecture in New York. On screen behind her is projected footage of each wedding. Julian is missing in this flash forward, and the weight of her absence is felt. Through moments like this, and by allowing the characters to take the lead, “Julian” evolves into a documentary of sorts, especially as Fleur presents their story in a lecture to an audience. It’s like a documentary about a woman who wants the world to know about the person she loves. It’s about keeping love alive by speaking it, sharing it, and refusing to let it fade.
Without going into specifics, you can probably tell already what will happen; however, “Julian” isn’t defined by sadness. What makes the film truly remarkable is its emotional balance. In the personal clips, the couple radiates light. Their journey is laced with warmth and wit. It’s a protest through love, and it’s deeply moving.
The performances ground everything. Meurisse brings a quiet fire to Fleur, while Roothooft’s Julian is equally compelling, her presence steady, curious, gentle. Their chemistry is effortless, and the camera captures it without intrusion. Everything about their relationship feels as real as it truly was.
Kusters, whose direction shows striking maturity for a first feature, treats her subjects with deep respect. The film holds an emotional sensitivity and visual elegance, while excelling in its subtle gestures, unspoken weight, and the physicality of love and grief.
Still, the nonlinear storytelling, while thematically apt, does occasionally fracture the film’s momentum. The jumps across time can disrupt the emotional arc, momentarily pulling you out of the present. Yet perhaps that fragmentation is intentional. Grief doesn’t obey structure. Memory arrives in flashes, and love, especially love cut short, lives in fragments too.
While sad queer films are quite tired at this point, this is a true story – one that happened, and that still resonates far beyond its final frame. The message lingers: to love boldly is to live truthfully. What Fleur and Julian shared was beautiful, brave, and unfinished. And in telling their story, Kusters gives it new life. “Julian” invites us not just to witness this love, but to feel it, carry it, and recognize the injustice that made such a project necessary in the first place.
