My third and final entry in the Cannes section of the Filmspotting Movie Dictator Club for the month of May, 2009!

Written By: Jean-Pierre & Luc Dardenne
Directed By: Jean-Pierre & Luc Dardenne

I find myself stumped as to what to write about Le Fils. Easily one of the simplest movies I have ever seen, it’s clarity of presentation and meaning requires the same in response. I don’t fall into that category of reviewer, I am long winded, often tangential, and prone to waxing poetic at every turn. To say that Le Fils is the opposite is an understatement, it is concise, and to the point. Le Fils is an economy of motion, every movement of every character serves the great meaning of the film, every moment drives towards the ending. In a world of bloated films that last too long or lose themselves while trying for depth, Le Fils is a testimony to the power of simplicity and how taking the simplest approach can breed more depth than the complex approach.

I was reminded of two movies while watching Le Fils, Road To Perdition and In The Bedroom. Both are films that I happen to love and view as master works, and Le Fils shares some similarities to those two films, simplistic approach, dynamic acting, and the idea of dealing with a great loss within a family. However, Le Fils differs greatly in its resolution, one that the modern movie goer should be shocked by. That’s not to say that Le Fils resolution is better than the ones found in Road To Perdition or In The Bedroom, but it is remarkably different and nowhere near what movies have taught us should happen at the end of such a yarn.

At this point anyone who has not yet seen Le Fils should stop reading, because I will spoil the heck out of it, I don’t think there’s any way around that.

The ending of Le Fils wouldn’t work without a set-up, and the set-up is chilling. I spent the first thirty minutes of Le Fils questioning Olivier, wondering what his deal was and trying to figure out what the intentions were behind his creepy and mysterious actions. Then my expectations were subverted with the revelation that Francis isn’t being leered at for the obvious reasons, but rather because he killed Olivier’s son. At this point it would have been easy for the Dardenne’s to switch things up, to dramatically change the mood and tone of the film. Instead they simply changed the focus, what had once made Olivier seem creepy in a sexual way now made him dangerous in a rapturous way. We may not know what Olivier is feeling, but we do know that so many things are flying through his head and his actions make it hard to figure out where the movie is headed and what Olivier will do.

This goes back to the idea of subversion within the film, and the ending is one giant subversion piece. Years upon years of worldwide film watching have told us how this movie must end. Le Fils can only end with the death of Francis at the hands of Olivier, and it would be completely justified. Yet, the Dardennes continue to subvert our expectations and go a different route, showing another side of humanity, one that is rarely seen in film. That of forgiveness, redemption and the ability to take in someone who has utterly damaged you.

Before I went into unveiling spoilers I talked about the differences between Road To Perdition, In The Bedroom and Le Fils. One major difference I didn’t feel like disclosing till after I had reached spoiler territory was that of Francis. He is a killer, but what makes him different is an obvious level of remorse in his actions as well as a decided lack of conviction in the actions that led to the death. This may seem like a small thing, but it is a major thing when it comes to the idea of Francis’ redemption and by proxy the redemption of Olivier as well.

I said earlier that I was stumped as to what to write about Le Fils. As the above should attest, that wasn’t entirely true, but I do fear that I have prattled on far too much about a film that wants the reaction of the audience to stay at the same simple level as its storytelling. There is depth in the presentation, in the allegory of Olivier as Jesus’ father John, in the smothering nature of the tone, the way that it feels like every scene is an invasion of something private, and so on, and so on. But, Le Fils is above all else a simple movie that allows for its power to come from the simplicity of its presentation and the simple, yet realistic work of its actors. I’d like to thank Worm@Work for the last of my three dictations for the month of May, it was a wonderful movie to watch and I am more than happy for being spurred to see a movie I might never have gotten around to otherwise.

Rating:

****

Cheers,
Bill

Calling the films of Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne “minimalist” is only the half-truth of their aesthetic sensibility. What gives the appearance of formal disinterestedness and coolness in “Le fils” (2002) and “L’Enfant” (2005), for instance, is really a desire to get close, to visually assimilate a wide range of complex emotions and feelings inside the movie frame. Both films, screened this month as part of the Film Society’s ongoing Dardenne Brothers retrospective, are exemplary in proving that silences still matter in the cinema, for certain, but their achievements are more vibrant and palpable than minimalism alone could potentially offer.

In “Le fils,” Olivier (Olivier Gourmet), a doleful, expressionless middle-aged carpentry instructor living alone in rural Liège, meets the once-incarcerated 16 year-old, Francis (Morgan Marinne). The boy is eager to learn Olivier’s trade, although Olivier is more eager to trace his past, which he soon learns played a significant role in the death of his son. “L’Enfant” is a film similarly concerned about traces – sometimes visible, sometimes hidden or ignored – as the young Sonia (Déborah François) struggles to mother a newborn child while Bruno (Jérémie Renier), the dismissive and reluctant father, pockets money pawning and thieving in the perpetually overcast Belgian town of Seraing.

Sharp and sensuous, both of these films resist cool-headed, altogether pernicious treatments of human situations. The situations, however, are the key; they give the Dardennes an opportunity to explore, to pay attention to foregrounds without neglecting the scales and intensities of more complicated experiences lying below. Hand-held cameras follow the characters of “Le fils” and “L’Enfant” with patience, moving close, wandering between hands and faces, looking for moments that shatter the surface before it freezes over. And yet, patience is often sacrificed for restlessness, for bursts spontaneity and expressiveness (as when Olivier chases the young Francis at the end of “Le fils,” or Bruno and Sonia roughhouse in “L’Enfant”). The surface shatters, to be sure, and from below come those moments of warmth and luminosity that make the Dardenne Brothers masterful observers and that prevent their silences from turning into white noise.

- Ricky D’Ambrose

Il figlio è un film di Jean-Pierre e Luc Dardenne. Calvier è un semplice carpentiere, ma esercita il suo lavoro con tale serietà e passione da ricordare i grandi artigiani del passato. Malgrado l’apparente imperturbabilità, sembra tenersi per sé alcuni ricordi non particolarmente felici, e infatti in seguito veniamo a conoscenza che il suo unico figlio è stato ucciso anni prima. Intanto, un ragazzino, Francis, vuole diventare apprendista di Calvier. Per tentare di inquadrare questa piccola allegoria realista si è fatto il nome del poeta del cinema francese, Robert Bresson, e a ragione: i dialoghi pressoché inesistenti, i pochi personaggi, la sottile psicologia, non possono che far pensare alle umili parabole del leggendario regista. Il lento avvicinamento tra un padre e un figlio è reso tramite l’antico legame tra maestro e allievo, per concludersi in una riconciliazione che è al tempo stesso  umana e spirituale . Il percorso interiore che i due protagonisti affrontano è però tutt’altro che lineare, in quanto i due autori hanno deciso di conferire a Le Fils, con la steadycam e il suono rigorosamente diegetico, una certa indeterminatezza a livello di narrazione  (e una certa instabilità visiva ) non lontana dalle opere del Dogma 95.

Mad Detective, diretto da Johnny To e Wai Ka Fai, è invece un thriller ambientato ad Hong Kong. Bun è un ispettore che utilizza metodi d’indagine particolarmente bizzarri,affermando di poter vedere le diverse personalità nascoste di un essere umano. Malgrado le sue brillanti operazioni, Bun viene allontanato dalla polizia dopo essersi tagliato un orecchio di fronte al suo capo.  Viene però richiamato in servizio anni dopo dall’ispettore Ho-Kon per risolvere il caso di un collega scomparso. In Mad Detective l’ambiguità narrativa del genere viene portata a livelli quasi espressionisti: l’intero processo investigativo è osservato dal punto di vista della psiche allucinata di Bun, rendendo profondamente incerto non solo lo svolgersi degli eventi e le attività più bizzarre dell’ex ispettore, ma anche, e forse volutamente per creare non un modello preciso ma un ipotetico e irrisolto puzzle sulla mente di un assassino , le caratteristiche del malvivente, sdoppiato in sette personaggi completamente diversi. Ma Bun sembra essersi creato anche un suo mondo interno, forse colmo di fantasmi del suo passato (negli ultimi anni è vissuto in completa solitudine) , e i due piani si intersecano continuamente, arrivando a chiederci se stiamo assistendo ad una caccia all’uomo o alla ricostruzione della mente di Bun. L’amoralità tipica di Johnny To è garantita dalla chiara simpatia in cui è tenuto l’eccentrico protagonista rispetto all’egregio poliziotto   Ho-Kon, il quale non solo non esita a servirsi dell’ex ispettore, ma nel finale lo vediamo essere dominato da una delle personalità dell’assassino. (era sempre presente in Ho-Kon ? oppure gli è stata passata dal criminale morente ? o si tratta semplicemente di un’altra visione di Bun ?).  La cinematografia nei film di Johnny To è sempre degna di nota, ma in questa sua ultima opera sembra aver raggiunto il culmine dei suoi barocchismi, non esitando a riprodurre in chiave grottesca la celebre scena degli specchi di The Lady From Shangai.

Discussion Questions for Le Fils / The Son (Jean-Pierre Dardenne & Luc Dardenne, 2002)

• Identify how the Dardenne brothers create a claustrophobic atmosphere in the film. What could be the reasons for such a visual style in this film?
• Why do you think there is no music in the film?
• Why do you think Olivier has an expressionless face in the film?
• Why do you think the camera always shows the back of Olivier’s head?
• Does the film feel like a documentary at times? If yes, when and why?
• What could Olivier’s eye-glasses represent in the film?
• What could Olivier’s leather belt represent in the film?
• Do you find Olivier’s injured back significant in the film? What could it represent?
• Consider the toilet scene and comment on the directors’ use of mirrors in their depiction of Olivier.
• What could be the effect(s) of the use of the hand-held camera on the story, on the characters, on the actors themselves and on the audience? Why is it so shaky at times?
• Comment on the final scene of the film. Why do you think the directors prefer not to have any words?
• What do you think about the title of the film? Who do you think “the son” refers to?
• Why do you think the directors choose “carpentry” in this film? Examine it as a metaphor.
• Why do you think the camera shows us Olivier washing his hands very often?

Suggested writing tasks:

• Identify and examine two of the strategies the directors use in their depiction of Olivier’s conscience.
• Examine in what ways this film could differ from a popular mainstream movie.
• To what extent would you call “The Son” a religious parable?

© Ali Nihat Eken, Istanbul, June 2008

There are a handful of films that give off a glow in my memory, like a candle flame. They’re not necessarily the Assassination of Jesse James etc. etc. or Magnolia type of films. They’re not by people such as Steven Soderbergh or Martin Scorsese. One of those films is Roderigo Garcia’s Things You Can Tell Just By Looking At Her (great acting in that one, but more than that, the film is amazingly gentle – not soft, mind you, not anodyne, but gentle), which I saw by sheer accident. Another one is Kore-Eda’s After-Life.

I’d been wanting to see the director’s Nobody Knows for a while now, but I only did so yesterday evening. After the very emotional final episode of Six Feet Under (it got to me just as much this time as it did when I first watched it) I wasn’t sure whether a film about four children who are abandoned by their mother and who try to continue their lives as best possible, ignored by the world around them, wouldn’t be too depressing.

The film is definitely not cheerful, and the ending is quite tough in terms of what happens, but there’s something as gentle and comforting about Kore-eda’s direction in Nobody Knows as there was in his deeply spiritual but never preachy After-Life. There are moments of simple joy in the lives of the children. There are just as many moments of joy in the filmmaking: scenes that are both realistic and subtly poetic.

It’s strange: in a way I feel the movie should get to me more, especially considering the ending – yet somehow I also think that I’d resist a tougher film more. Kore-eda’s work doesn’t do the emotional work for you. It doesn’t tell you what to think or feel. And it doesn’t allow for simple, clear-cut emotions. Yet you have to be willing to be taken along by the film’s flow. I don’t think I’ve seen many films that have this sort of pace; the film that popped into my mind when I tried to think of other movies that had a similar effect on me was Le fils by the Dardenne brothers.

Writing about the film now, I feel I’m only circling around the emotions that it touched upon. I don’t think I’m an inch closer to understanding the effect Nobody Knows had on me. But I think, somehow, that I may be remembering this film, much like After-Life, for a long time.

Discussion de biquetons…

La Biquette: Tu t’habilles pas en rouge ou en rose aujourd’hui?

Le Bouquetin: T’es tu malade!

La Biquette: Ben, ça serait mieux si tu veux cruiser!

Le Bouquetin: Je cruise pas, de toutes façons, avec mon ami on a fait un pacte, pas de blonde avant 14 ans!

La Chèvre: Coudonc, s’tu un pacte pour savoir lequel va virer gay avant l’autre?

***

Le pacte tiens fort, le lendemain il cruise matante Clo en lui donnant du “baby” gros comme le gras!!

LOL

Contexte: Écoute du vidéo 1984 de Phil Collins, Easy Lover

Le fils: C’est donc ben poche ça!

La mère: Ben, c’était hot en maudit quand j’avais ton âge, pis j’me rappelle encore des paroles!  Tu vas comprendre quand tu vas entendre des tounes de Billy Talent quand t’auras 36 ans.  Sauf que moi je l’écoute avec toi, s’t'un peu différent, moi ma mère écoutait du Enrico Macias genre… 

Le fils: Ouin, ben c’tait quoi c’te mode là de mettre du triangle dans toutes les tounes!!

There’s this emerging genre of indie film that seems to be focused on hyper-realism. Under the rules of this genre, characters never say more or divulge anything about themselves than they absolutely must. Every single one of these films have long, gratuitous scenes of people staring out at bleak landscapes through the window of cars, buses and trains. (I offer the theory that most of these movies would only be about 30 minutes long if they cut all the staring-forlornly-out-a-window scenes). Sometimes when the filmmaker gets really crazy, they’ll cross cut the window-starer with a POV shot of the sun moving behind the trees, which are blurred like an impressionist painting.

Riveting.

The idea, generally, is to show rather than to tell. And often times there isn’t even a whole lot of showing. In some films such as L’Enfant and Le Fils (both by the genius Dardennes brothers), the audience is left to make its own conclusions by scrutinizing a look here or reading between the lines of prosaic dialogue.

Even though L’Enfant has at least 10 minutes of the main character picking his nose on the bus, the Dardennes do this well because they create characters of great depth and there’s a sense of a personal history that guides everything they do even if we don’t hear about it.

“Day Night Day Night,” the story of a 19-year-old girl of ambiguous ethnicity and motivation who agrees be a suicide bomber, fails in this regard.

The filmmakers could not be more dishonest of the creation of this girl whom they only call “she” in the credits.

She is portrayed as shy and unsure of herself. Her voice is soft and barely audible. When she buys a candied apple moments before she’s supposed to blow up Times Square, we see red stains accumulate around her lips.

She shows an amazing degree of compassion and sweetness in her daily interactions with people, including her co-conspirators who don’t seem to regard as much as anything but a tool in their plan.

She tells the other terrorists that her parents are dead. This is the only insight we’re provided of her background. Later, she makes a collect call, and we hear elderly, possibly parental voices asking if she’s OK. She quickly hangs up.

Clearly, the girl has doubts about her desire to live. Yet this little quiet thing is supposed to be willing to kill possibly hundreds of people as well?

I know that her depiction is purposely supposed to clash with the images of jihadists we see in the news. But this rings false to me.

Maybe this character is suicidal. . . but is she homicidal as well??

We’re supposed to believe that this young girl who seems so directionless, malleable and beaten down is motivated to kill?

I didn’t buy it. There takes a level of anger, a level of zealous loyalty to a cause to commit such an act.

“She” comes off as sad and withering, like a new painting that was left in the sun for too long and has begun to fade.

Without any back story at all, “She” simply isn’t believable as a suicidal bomber, and the whole movie falls apart for me.

The movie might have been more effective (albeit it’d possess a far less sexy synopsis) it was simply about the girl’s plan to kill herself.