How much control can someone really have over their death? Bon Voyage, Marie (On Ira) (2025) suggests that death requires acceptance—not just by the individual, but more so by their loved ones. With the polarising ethics of Voluntary Assisted Dying (VAD), director Enya Baroux explores autonomy, purpose and bruising transitions over the final seven days of the geriatric Marie (Hélène Vincent).

Bon Voyage, Marie (On Ira) follows Marie, who asks caregiver Rudy (Pierre Lottin) to escort her to an appointment in the absence of her financially perilous son, Bruno (David Ayala). An inconspicuous poster in the background of the appointment reveals the film’s premise reading, “Au crépuscule de ma vie, je veux choisir la dignité”, which translates to, “at the end [or, dusk] of my life, I want to choose dignity.” Marie’s breast cancer has returned and spread. Knowing that treatment will ultimately damage her, she chooses VAD to claim agency over her life. 

The film never negates choosing VAD, but rather affirms its difficulty to accept, particularly by the afflicted’s loved ones. Blackmailing Rudy for his help, Marie convinces Bruno and his daughter, Anna (Juliette Gasquet) to travel to Switzerland (where VAD is legalised) under the pretence that a bank contacted her about funds remaining in an account held by her late-husband.  

Lighting and set construction effectively disguise Marie’s condition, creating disbelief that she is as sick as the doctors claim. Her house is still lively and basked in nostalgia with cozy trinkets and warm lamps. It is under these flattering filters that she looks rosy and healthy; a guise that perhaps keeps Bruno and Anna from discovering that the surprise trip to Switzerland may have an ulterior motive. The next morning, the bright morning sun shatters the cosy facade and reveals her sickly state; pale and sunken-eyed. She shuts the cast-iron gate to her house in farewell as her grating family ignorantly fuss about the campervan behind her. Vincent masters Marie’s deception with innocent doe eyes, contrasted by awkward grimaces when she is alone with her inner turmoil. Lottin plays Rudy wonderfully aloof, yet gentle in the chaos. His eyebrow acting creates a perfectly concerned demeanor, particularly when attempting to navigate supporting Marie and hiding her secret from the family. 

Ayala as Bruno is a natural comic with exaggerated macho anger and barking jibes. However, his behaviour makes him difficult to sympathise with. Convincing his accountant to steal money from his daughter—who was consequently left with insufficient funds to purchase pads for her first period—is unforgivable. Additionally, his inability to sense the palpable tension between his mother and Rudy is—albeit, dynamically interesting—displeasing. Refreshingly, Gasquet’s Anna is strong-spirited and anchors the ensemble. Her teenage moodiness was balanced by her compassion for her grandmother, a welcome display of womanhood whilst still holding to her punk-rock persona. 

Hence, it is natural that the writing allows Anna to follow her intuition and find the truth about her grandmother’s condition, ushering in an emotional climax. By the time Bruno is let in on the secret, his disappointment for losing imaginary inheritance and fighting against Marie’s choice is anticlimactic and entitled in the face of his deteriorating mother. Whilst it could ring true to the learning of a family member's choice to die, Bruno’s reaction seems to be the culmination of how Marie’s autonomy is undermined throughout the film. Even Rudy attempts to sway Marie’s mind, forcing her to tell her family when she really wanted to wait for the right moment. Both men attempt to influence Marie’s decisions according to what they believe to be best for her, unintentionally undermining the agency she attempts to preserve. The transfer of understanding between Marie and Anna makes up for the frustrating ignorance both Bruno and Rudy impart on the situation. 

Baroux's directorship naturally presents life through simple camera shots on people—continuers of memory and legacy. Rather than honouring the grand French and Swiss landscapes in wide and aerial shots, the camera relies on faces and intimate emotions, suggesting that the true journey is personal rather than geographical. 

Having spent a memorable and uniting seven final days with Marie, the family sets her campervan alight and settles to accept the transition. Rudy is finally grounded, Anna carries Marie’s strength and Bruno seems redirected in his purpose as a father. And of course, as fireworks explode from the flames, Marie’s soul is set free: colourful, unfaded and free.