The cause for the alarm is Hugo (Charles Berling), a new neighbor invited to dine with the family one night who stays until daybreak, debating the subject of love long after everyone else has gone to bed. Hugo is gay and though well into middle age, he is still bitter towards the dying father who rejected him, and in that rejection, he forged his own theory on relationships. He simply does not believe in them, preferring the electrical charge of the one-time tryst to leaving himself open to something deeper. It is a shocking revelation to Frederic, who has never before had reason to question his marriage, even as his passion for his wife has slowly disappeared.

Both men are dedicated runners, which provides a platform for their burgeoning friendship, meeting in the early hours of the morning before the sun grows too hot. Frederique grows alarmed as Frederic increasingly pulls away from her, but the relationship between the two men is more complicated than that. Hugo appears attracted but wary. Frederic clearly seems to be nursing a crush, but what he is really longing for is never clear.

Not that any of this is that straightforward. Perhaps mindful of the fact that this is a drama in which essentially nothing happens, Breitman adds a number of stylistic flourishes to break through the static. Scenes repeat and extend. Various couples tango. A string quartet appears from time to time. A sexual assault involving minor supporting characters occurs for no discernible reason. Hugo and Frederic spend an inordinate amount of time gazing at Hugo's silly graphics art projects. And naturally since this does take place in Provence, there are plenty of shots of nothing but the wonders of nature.

Perhaps if Campan and Berling were more charismatic actors or maybe if their characters were more three-dimensional, The Man in My Life might be more riveting. Instead, it unfolds like a lazy summer's day. It is beautiful, but ultimately empty and a little bit boring.