A Belgian-French
co-production, Les Films du Fleuve, Archipel 35, RTBF (Belgian TV), with
support from Centre du Cinéma et de l'Audiovisuel de la Communauté
Française de Belgique et des Télédistributeurs Wallons, Eurimages,
Loteri Nationale de Belgique and with the participation of Canal +,
Centre National de la Cinématographie (CNC), Wallimage, released by New
Yorker Films.
Writers-directors
- Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne.
Producers
- Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne, Denis Freyd.
Director of
photography - Alain Marcoen.
Editor
- Marie-Hélène Dozo.
Set designer
- Igor Gabriel.
Costumes
- Monic Parelle.
103 minutes. Unrated: Intense emotional
interactions and suggestions of violence.
STARRING:
Olivier Gourmet ...
Olivier, Morgan Marinne ... Francis, Isabella Soupart ... Magali, Rémy
Renaud ... Philippo, Nassim Hassaïni ... Omar
You will not have a great time watching The Son for the first
time. It is the antithesis of typical American entertainment. It is, in
fact, a work of art. The filmmakers have looked closely at a seemingly
ordinary character and built a frame around him. We are invited to look
at the picture. We are offered an opportunity to discover a profoundly
moving story. But if we are to solve its mysteries, we must pay close
attention, walk away, and then return to look at it again. “The truth
must dazzle gradually,” said Emily Dickenson. The Son will dazzle
you if you wait, patiently, thinking it through and discussing it. The
effort you put into it will determine how much it rewards you in the
end.
Olivier Gourmet won the Best Actor award at the
Cannes Film Festival in 2002 (winning over Adrian Brody for The
Pianist) for his role as Olivier the carpentry teacher in this, the
latest film from the Dardennes Brothers, whose previous films Rosetta
and La Promesse have won widespread critical acclaim. And
Gourmet deserves the award. It is not a striking performance, but it is
exceedingly complex. And it comes across naturally. Olivier seems so
real that the film takes on the feel of a documentary, and we wonder
what is going on in his head during long silences as he washes dishes,
does his daily sit-ups, and drives around the town.
This may sound tedious, but it is not. Right away,
we sense Olivier has secrets. In his carpentry shop in the mundane
Belgian city of Liège, he is teaching young boys how to measure, cut,
and construct simple but solid things. He certainly does not look
suspicious, blinking behind thick glasses, his expression opaque and
unrevealing, his blue overalls as ordinary as they come. But he seems
agitated. The handheld-video wavers, jumping anxiously from his shoulder
where it shares his view, to across the room where we can see him
observing his class. When a new boy named Francis (Morgan Marinne)
arrives at the school, Olivier begins behaving strangely indeed, dashing
down hallways so he can spy on the newcomer. Viewers may well begin to
suspect that Olivier is a sexual predator, or perhaps a criminal fearing
to be recognized.
But no, the truth is much more interesting. To say
more about it would be to rob you of the reward of investigating for
yourself. Suffice to say that there is a connection between the man and
the boy. He knows it. The boy does not. And as they begin to work
together and get to know each other, we begin picking up hints, slowly
putting the puzzle together in our heads.
The Dardennes Brothers’ technique is to try and
capture things without enhancement, without directing our attention to
details. And yet, by giving us this extreme-close-up view of Olivier, by
following him through routines again and again, the filmmakers begin to
reveal what is important to him—accuracy, craftsmanship, discipline,
second chances, kindness—and the elements of his daily life take on
heavy metaphoric significance.
It seems a very deliberate choice of the
storytellers that Olivier is a carpenter. As he carefully trains the
boys in the importance of exactness, of cutting things “just so” and
making sure the lines are straight, he is really speaking to them about
their lives. As he carries heavy beams around the shop, he is giving us
a picture of the hard work of bearing one’s moral responsibility, and of
going beyond that, to take and bear someone else’s cross. In fact, the
Dardennes have commented that the film could just as well have been
titled “The Father”, a remark that argues further for a religious
interpretation of the events depicted.
If only we could reclaim the term “Christian
filmmaking” and erase its current definition —
shoddy propaganda films. No
one in the film professes to be a Christian, but actions speak louder
than words. Even if the Dardennes were to insist that their characters
have no religious affiliation, Olivier’s choices still add up to a
passion play. This is as pure a “movie parable” as you’re likely to
find.
Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardennes got started in
filmmaking much the same way that Kryzysztof Kieslowski did
— making
political documentaries. As they have graduated into fiction, they have
maintained that sense of realism, that avoidance of the adornments we
have come to expect from big screen films. This film probably qualifies
as a Dogma 95 film in its avoidance of external lighting enhancements,
makeup, soundtrack, and special effects. But where Kieslowski’s themes
were more questioning and philosophical, the Dardennes Brothers seem
preoccupied with the routines of the working class, with the demands of
survival. Rosetta’s story seemed to be one of survival over
morality. But here, there is a deeper spiritual exploration at work.
Rosetta was a journey of determination and practicality. The Son
is a story of the spirit, of extraordinary courage and forgiveness.
Hold on, though. I’m concerned that when I say the
film is about forgiveness, you will decide right away what kind of
ending it has. You will be wrong. There is no “moral to the story.”
There is no teary-eyed breakdown, no embrace, no swelling of the
soundtrack. We don’t see Happily Ever After. Instead, we come to a
deeper understanding of the difficulty involved with real forgiveness.
We learn precisely because the film refuses to satisfy our desire for
unrealistic emotional closure. We come away unsure whether the outcome
of Olivier’s choice will cause him further difficulty, or whether he
will be rewarded with peace and joy. Just like in real life.
I wish I could talk to you about the last moment in
The Son. It is a perfect example of the artists’ genius. It is a
seemingly arbitrary moment. And yet, in view of all that has come
before, it is loaded with significance. It is meaningful in what we see
the characters choosing to do. It is meaningful also in what the picture
resembles. You see them going about a task, and suddenly a chill runs
down your spine as you realize what it looks like they’re doing.
This comes about without a single word from the actors. It happens
because we are thinking about what we have observed, not what we have
been told. This is as fine an example as the cinema has to offer
regarding the power of showing rather than telling. It is
a manifestation of the first, most challenging, most rewarding rule of
art.
I hate to end this review on such a vague claim, but perhaps you will
see the film, and perhaps you will think to drop me a note and tell me
what you think about the significance of that last image. I’ll be
interested to see if you’re thinking what I’m thinking.
Jeffrey's Rating:
A+
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