Though set against a distinctively, ineffably cinematic landscape, with a romanticised Californian setting, amidst the immensity of the Death Valley, Guillaume Nicloux’s Valley of Love focus on an intimate tale concerning two grieving parents, meeting at the foreign location at the request of their son, who had committed suicide just six months earlier.

Playing heightened, fictional versions of themselves, Gérard Depardieu hasn’t seen Isabelle Huppert for a number of years, but the pair have been reunited by their recently deceased child, writing letters to them both and inviting them to America to spend some time together – but for what precise reason, they aren’t quite sure. Running through an arranged itinerary and visiting all of the famed sights – Depardieu struggles to cope with the heat, and confesses he’s to leave the trip a day early for a hospital appointment. Huppert, meanwhile, is determined to stick it out, still feeling a sense of guilt after missing the funeral.

Both of the venerable performers are at the top of their game, with tender, nuanced turns that display exactly why they’re considered to be two of the finest French actors of their generation. But they are let down by the unjustified decision for them to play themselves, albeit fictionalised. The meta approach is superfluous and unnecessary, detracting from the reality rather than enhancing it. We know the actors have never been together, so it does nothing but take you out of the story. They could play made-up, nondescript famous french actors and it would work just fine, giving them their real names simply leads to needing a suspension of disbelief.

Nonetheless, it’s a mere blemish in a film that otherwise makes for an congenial experience, with a simplistic narrative executed in a more than accomplished fashion. There’s a subtle humour prevalent throughout, to counteract the more challenging scenes – and yet doesn’t ever detract from the more poignant elements, which is where so many other filmmakers fall short. Though perhaps in some instances a little more farce would be welcomed, as the more sombre moments in the final act are at odds with the rest of this amiable, undemanding piece.