"I just wish I would understand the world better."
That’s what makes Peak Everything so human. It doesn’t just use eco-anxiety as a modern buzzword. It examines how the fear of environmental collapse compounds our personal fears—of being misunderstood, of being unloved, of quietly falling apart while the world watches and shrugs.
Written by Mariane Tremblay
Peak Everything struck a sensitive chord and moved me deeply from the very beginning. It’s difficult to put into words exactly how it made me feel, but through Adam (Patrick Hivon), it felt as though director and writer Anne Émond had quietly captured the emotional weight so many of us are carrying. Life can be incredibly lonely, and the world we live in is often overwhelming, confusing, and hard to navigate.
Adam is a man in his forties whose life has stalled as he quietly battles depression. He drifts through days marked by isolation, unspoken grief, and the weight of expectations. In a moment of desperation, he dials what he believes is a support line, only to reach Tina (Piper Perabo), who in fact works in the technical support department of the UV lamp company he just purchased from. What begins as a "mistaken call" turns into an unlikely connection.
What makes Peak Everything stand out is its genre play: it’s a romantic comedy at heart, but one that uses the familiar structure to explore the very real emotional toll of climate change. Émond cleverly blends humour and existential dread, using the rom-com format to talk about eco-anxiety—the chronic fear of environmental collapse and its consequences.
Adam suffers from it in quiet, subtle ways (well, not always so subtle). He’s awkward, anxious, and visibly struggling to process what’s happening around him—and Patrick Hivon embodies all of that with remarkable nuance. One of the most telling moments comes when Adam finally books a therapy session. Émond stages it with a mix of humour and discomfort: Adam is hesitant, ashamed, and almost embarrassed to even admit he needs help. Hivon plays it with such restraint that the scene feels both painfully funny and achingly real. It’s a sharp example of how the film confronts the stigma around mental health without ever tipping into melodrama.
Hivon’s performance is extraordinary—rich in small gestures and quiet expressions that make Adam heartbreakingly real. And when paired with Piper Perabo, the chemistry is undeniable. Together, they create a fragile yet powerful intimacy that grounds the film; their connection feels both tender and tumultuous, perfectly mirroring the larger chaos of the world around them.
The shame Adam carries is telling, and Émond explores it with subtlety. The film captures how stigma still shapes the way men, particularly in smaller or more traditional communities, deal with mental health. That silence runs across generations, and you see it in Adam’s strained dynamic with his father—a man who clearly loves his son but lacks the emotional language to reach him. Their final confrontation near the end of the film is one of its most powerful scenes: not because it offers resolution, but because it finally breaks the silence.
That’s what makes Peak Everything so human. It doesn’t just use eco-anxiety as a modern buzzword. It examines how the fear of environmental collapse compounds our personal fears—of being misunderstood, of being unloved, of quietly falling apart while the world watches and shrugs.
On a technical level, Émond’s direction is bold and emotionally intuitive. The quick editing and claustrophobic close-ups ramp up the tension in unexpected ways—there were moments when I felt genuinely anxious, not because of the plot, but because the emotions were so raw and unfiltered. She captures the internal chaos of anxiety and heartbreak with startling precision.
I also love how the film uses natural disasters and environmental collapse not just as a backdrop, but as a metaphor for falling in love. The line “Life as we know it is about to change” carries multiple meanings. When Adam says it, he’s speaking literally: the climate crisis is escalating, and an apocalypse feels imminent. But when Tina’s husband later repeats the same line—just as she’s about to leave him for Adam—it lands in a much more personal, intimate way. His world is collapsing, too, but emotionally.
That’s the brilliance of the film—it acknowledges that both things can be true. The climate is in crisis, and so are our relationships. The apocalypse becomes the metaphor for falling in love: unpredictable, destructive, liberating, terrifying, beautiful. By intertwining these two types of collapse—global and personal—the film suggests that every ending might also be a beginning.
Which brings me to the final scene. There’s something primal about it. Very Adam and Eve, if you ask me. In that moment, nature is at peace. Everything feels quiet. It’s like a return to the beginning—but also the start of something entirely new. They’ve chosen connection in the face of collapse. Life as they knew it has changed. And somehow, that feels like hope. It’s a scene that resonates not only because of Émond’s vision, but because of Hivon and Perabo’s devastatingly good chemistry—the tenderness and urgency between them makes the ending hit with even greater force.
Peak Everything is now playing in theatres in Québec and will have its Toronto premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival next month—if you're going to the festival, make sure you don't miss this one. It’s chaotic (in the best possible way), sweet, beautiful—everything we needed right now.
Photos: Immina Films
Comments
Post a Comment