The film begins with an amorous promise: I can change. A promise heard too often, a promise we know to be false in advance. Amie-Sarah has fallen deeply in love with Boby, a young Romanian Romani who is living in the street and takes crack. Together, between the Gare de Lyon car park and small Parisian hotels, they have experienced a story of crazy love, which nonetheless has not allowed to change Boby. Because he likes the freedom of the street, where he grew up, the only form of home he knows. Amie-Sarah, a Franco-Japanese woman raised by cosmopolitan artists, has turned this heartbreak into a harrowing chronicle of their impossible relationship. I Can Change, But Not 100% is an account of abnormal, brutal intimacy, which invites us to explore impenetrable basements and the community that lives there, without prejudice. Left completely powerless by the failure of her love, which was not strong enough to change Boby, the director uses film as the only way to heal her wound. Or perhaps to write a harrowing love letter to he who cannot read but speaks every language. And we, the audience, are the privileged witnesses.
Elena López Riera