Trying to explain the appeal of French films is like trying to describe an orgasm to someone who's never had one or your favourite food to someone who's never tried it.

Maybe it's got something to do with the language, maybe it's the je ne sais quoi Paris inherently has as a filming location, maybe there's just an innate, almost subconscious aesthetic French directors go for in the lighting and staging. There certainly is one in the themes and topics they cover.

It's certainly got to do with a very European awareness about how impactful sex is in our lives, one that historically passed the English speaking world very much by and which the major English language film markets in the UK and US treat as embarrassing (at best) and sinful (at worst) and off limits for discussion.

I'd ordinarily make a joke about it being the only reason I wanted to watch this film, but you know what? I'm not going to apologise for it or make a joke of myself for it this time – in my heart of hearts I yearn for the both romantce and beauty of sex and the sexuality of romance and beauty, and French films encapsulate that emotional outlook perfectly, as this one does.

It's based very loosely on letters sent between two authors in 19th century France, a contradiction of a place that's as conservative and buttoned up as it is overtly hedonistic, with marriages still arranged for economic reasons.

One such union befalls Marie (Noémie Merlant), the eldest in a family of beautiful young sisters. Her and the free spirited Pierre (Niels Schneider), an enthusiast of the nascent field of photography in the social circle of her family, have a thing for each other, trying to find an empty hallway to kiss passionately during a family get together.

But in short order she's promised to Henri de Régnier (Benjamin Lavernhe), a much more stoic man who loves Marie as much as Pierre does, albeit with far less heat and passion.

Crushed by what he sees as a betrayal by his friend, Pierre goes to Algeria (then a French colony) and brings back the sexually liberated Zohar (Camélia Jordana), living in his apartment on erotic photography, smoking and a constant haze of sex.

But Marie can't forget Pierre any more than he can her, and when she finds excuses to visit him, he asks if he can photograph her. In doing so he reawakens the suppressed passion she feels for him and the two embark on a torrid affair (and yes, you see everything).

But the path to romantic fulfilment is never easy, everyone's going to get their heart broken or face rejection in some way or other, and ultimately the power struggle over her heart and mind makes Marie a better writer – or so the description of the plot says that I read online, but that element didn't stand out very much to me.

The production design is beautiful and Paris of the late 1800s looks lush (why is sunlight pouring through a plume of cigarette smoke so lushly gorgeous in a French movie?), the stars are attractive and the theme – of finding your full humanity and your voice as an artist, always a favourite theme of mine in any fiction – is delivered amid sumptuous camerawork and performances.