Here It All Begins spoiler: Carla upset to learn… (video episode of October 29)
The film opens on a peaceful morning at the Auguste Armand Institute. The sun shines on the kitchens where the kitchen staff is busy, and the atmosphere seems light, almost carefree. But behind this apparent serenity, a shadow looms. Something is brewing, something that will turn Carla’s life upside down. From the very first minutes, the direction establishes a mood that is both gentle and disturbing: a mixture of deceptive normality and underlying tension.
Carla, usually energetic and determined, begins her day with a shy smile. She’s about to present an important dish to Chef Teyssier. Her future at the Institute depends in part on this ordeal. Around her, her classmates support her, but some watch, silent and intrigued. Everything seems to be going well until an unexpected message interrupts the rhythm. In an instant, her gaze changes. Her phone screen lights up, and on her face, serenity gives way to amazement.
The film plays with the slowness of the moment. The camera lingers on her eyes, on the imperceptible trembling of her hands. She rereads the message several times, unable to believe what she sees. Her breath catches. Behind her, Léonard and Souleymane exchange a worried look. “Are you okay, Carla?” Bérénice asks timidly. But the young woman remains silent, paralyzed. The silence falls, thick, almost unbearable. We understand that what she has just learned is terrible.
Emotions gradually mount. Carla hurries from the kitchen, knocking over a tasting tray in the process. The next scene shows her in the Institute’s grounds, alone, her gaze lost. Melancholic music accompanies her dismay. The viewer still doesn’t know the content of the message, but already senses that the news is serious. The staging distils the information in small touches, through the reactions of the other characters. Ambre, upon hearing the news, staggers in turn. Hortense, upset, simply murmurs: “No… not that.”
The drama then takes on an unexpected dimension. Carla learns of the death of someone who had marked her life, someone she loved deeply. The words fall like a sentence: the shock is brutal, irreversible. Her world is collapsing. The script doesn’t try to overdo it: it’s through restraint that the pain is expressed. We see her sit on a bench, unable to cry, as if her body refuses to believe it. The wind blows gently, leaves fall around her, a visual metaphor for a life fading away.
The minutes that follow are devastatingly intense. Carla tries to understand, to piece together the fragments of a reality she refuses to accept. She rereads the message, searches for hope, a mistake, a sentence she might have misinterpreted. But it’s all true. The director then chooses to alternate between the present and Carla’s memories, in a series of luminous flashbacks. We see her laughing, cooking, confiding in the missing person. These images, bathed in a golden light, contrast with the coldness of the present. The contrast reinforces the pain: everything she has lost comes back to her, bursting with life at the very moment when death imposes itself.
In the kitchens, the news spreads. The students stop, shocked. Even the formidable Teyssier, usually distant, remains silent. His gaze falls on Carla with unusual gravity. He knows words would be useless. “Let her take the time she needs,” he finally says, his voice grave. This rare moment humanizes the chef, revealing a hint of empathy often hidden behind his authority.
Carla, for her part, tries to take refuge in work, as if to escape her pain. But the kitchen, usually her sanctuary, suddenly becomes a stifling place. Every gesture reminds her of shared moments, every smell revives a memory. In a poignant scene, she tries to finish her dish, but tears blur her vision. The knife slips, she cuts herself, and it’s as if the physical pain releases the pain she’s been holding back for hours. She collapses.
Her friends rush over. Bérénice hugs her, unable to hold back her own tears. “You are not alone,” she tells her gently. This simple gesture, this silent presence, becomes an anchor. Carla finally lets her pain out. The viewer witnesses a scene of rare sincerity: no excessive shouting, no overplayed drama, just raw, human, universal pain.
The second part of the film explores how Carla copes with this loss. She withdraws into herself, avoids others, and locks herself in her room, where the photos and mementos become both refuge and torture. Her worried classmates try to reach her, but she refuses to speak. It takes all of Bérénice’s sensitivity to convince her to open the door. Their dialogue, palpably emotional, is one of the film’s highlights. Carla finally confides what she feels: anger, guilt, and the fear of being forgotten. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” she says breathlessly, breaking the viewer’s heart.
Gradually, the film shifts to a recovery phase. With the support of her friends and teachers, Carla begins to transform her pain into strength. An idea is born: to create a tribute dish to the person she lost, a dessert steeped in symbolism and memories. Each ingredient becomes a vehicle for emotion—the sweetness of a beloved fruit, the bitterness of a scent associated with a memory. This culinary sequence, filmed with great delicacy, conveys the character’s rebirth better than words.
On the day of the presentation, the entire team is gathered. Carla, trembling, presents her dessert. Her voice is hesitant, but her eyes shine with new strength. The jury tastes, moved. Teyssier, after a long silence, declares simply: “It’s magnificent.” It is not a technical victory, but a human victory. Carla has transformed loss into creation, pain into beauty.
The film ends with a symbolic image: Carla, alone in the park, looks up at the sunset sky. The light, soft and golden, caresses her face. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply. The pain is still there, but a fragile peace settles in. In a voiceover, she whispers: “The absent ones don’t disappear. They remain there, in what we cook, in what we love, in what we become.”
This 900-word spoiler paints a portrait of a heroine who is both broken and radiant, marked by loss but driven by passion. Through this intimate drama, Here It All Begins offers a reflection on grief, resilience, and the power of creation. In cooking, as in life, some recipes are born in tears—and that’s precisely what makes them unforgettable.
