Sophia, the heroine of the new French-Canadian film “The Nature of Love,” leads a curious life. She’s a philosophy professor who seems to lecture solely on the dialectics of amour and, even more strangely, teaches classes composed exclusively of senior citizens. 

She’s in a devoted marriage, yet she and her husband Xavier sleep in separate beds and laugh at how rarely they argue or make love. She’s a beautiful, mature, elegant woman in her early 40s who nonetheless behaves at times like a teenage girl — crying, gabbing, stumbling, pining.

Most of the later behavior starts when Sophia meets Sylvain, a handsome handyman she hires to do renovation work on a recently-purchased country house. 

When they first meet early-on, he’s silhouetted against a bright, open-air background so that we can’t see his face, a potent symbol for how he’s pre-conceived by her as just a symbol of the working class. 

In the next scene, he roams through the house pointing out work that needs to be done and, due to its comic staging and roving, focus-shifting camerawork, one might not realize all the action is captured in one skillful shot. 

The sophisticated visual language employed in what is billed as a romantic comedy separates the film from other examples of the genre. 

Throughout, director Monia Chokri uses a myriad of stylistic flourishes and filmic devices, including but not limited to tight closeups, discreet cinéma vérité compositions, natural light, dreamy light, quick and slow zooms, arc shots, wide shots, and editing synced to music. 

This multitude of storytelling modes, combined with a romantic and bubbly French pop instrumental score, enhances the narrative and creates a dippy atmosphere that’s infectious, if slightly annoying.

Matching its carefully-curated, varied imagery, the movie has a lot on its mind. Concerning itself not only with “the nature of love,” the film also delves into such topics as class differences, sexual mores, and political partisanship. 

In its exploration of eros, we get several moments of Sophia expounding on everyone from Plato and Spinoza to Schopenhauer and bell hooks. 

Interspersed throughout the film, these classroom glimpses dovetail with the character’s quickly-consummated affair with the manly Sylvain, as the two of them eventually develop a relationship  — she leaves Xavier — and generally moon over each other. 

While erotic, their lovemaking scenes retain a sense of humor, and though there’s one instance later in the movie where the sex gets a bit uncomfortable, it’s still in keeping with Sophia’s quest to answer the age-old question: What is love? Is she in love or lust or both? Or is it neither — an irrational illness? 

When the smitten couple have their first fight, it boils down to issues of social class and miscommunication, but our heroine can’t seem to reconcile that having a lovey-dovey physical relationship is very different from having a satisfying intellectual conversation and sharing cultural quirks, like joking about one’s favorite dictator or discussing music genres. 

Deep in the throes of confusion and hormones, Sophia forgets who she is. Yet could who she is be more malleable, like love? 

In order to portray such a complex woman without the character falling into pretension or ponderousness, Ms. Chokri needed to secure an actress skilled at applying a light touch to philosophical, at times serious, subjects. 

The writer and director couldn’t have chosen better than Magalie Lépine-Blondeau. With her apple cheeks, round eyes, and wide mouth, the camera adores Ms. Lépine-Blondeau, and her line delivery is just as charming. 

When she tells Sylvain early in the film that her husband will be out “late, very late” and follows it up with a half-laugh, it’s both endearing and deeply indicative of Sophia’s ironic self-consciousness.

Rugged Pierre-Yves Cardinal plays Sylvain and he happily links up with Ms. Lépine-Blondeau’s (and the film’s) slightly odd vibe. Ms. Chokri herself depicts the role of Sophia’s friend Françoise and she brings a manic energy to the picture. 

Françoise is married to Philippe (Steve Laplante) and their tempestuous, children-riddled household provides the setting for the movie’s farcical climax. 

Françoise, Philippe and various friends and relations are gathered to celebrate Sophia’s birthday, and this is the first time in which Sylvain interacts with his beloved’s familiars. 

In a series of escalating faux-pas, committed by both “her kind” and Sylvain, Sophia begins to realize that maybe it’s unreasonable, even cruel, to expect her working-class beau to fit in with her ultra-educated friends and family. 

And then he proposes to her in Françoise and Philippe’s kitchen and the comedy of manners — as Sophia sports brown dishwashing gloves that match her outfit — reaches a hysterical high point.

In examining themes like the urban-versus-rural divide and male-female relations, Ms. Chokri has packaged contemporary anxieties within the framework of a romance. 

This ambitious element to her movie, along with its consummate filmmaking, transforms a very Canadian romcom into a potent satire. In the end, the disquisition on love becomes an inquisition of our times.