Save this storySave this storySave this storySave this story
The vitality of traditional genres such as thrillers and detectives does not come from nostalgic memories of old films, but from their ability to inspire and embody new ideas and stylistic achievements. In this context, the French director Alain Guiraudie is a paradoxical figure, since he is at his most complex when working within rigid and conservative frameworks. The freer his narrative, the more strictly he adheres to it; the stronger his dramatic energy, the further it takes him into the world of concepts and forms, aesthetics and symbols. This is why his new film, Misericordia, like his 2014 thriller, Stranger by the Lake, is an exceptional experience. (The film premiered at the New York Film Festival last fall and opens this Friday.) Misericordia is, at its core, a lively and engaging entertainment, a thriller that grips your attention. The plot is tense but full of unexpected twists (which I won't spoil); the story is logical but broad, and it's filled with nuances of behavior and character, psychological subtext, and witty observations. Its tension is driven as much by aesthetics as by plot.
Set in late 2023, Misericordia is a classic tale of the prodigal son's return to a troubled home. Jérémie (Félix Kisil), a thirty-year-old man, returns to his native village after a ten-year absence. He has returned to pay his respects to his mentor, a baker named Jean-Pierre (Serge Richard), who has passed away at the age of sixty-two. The baker's widow, Martine (Catherine Frot), invites him to stay in the bedroom of the couple's son, Vincent (Jean-Baptiste Durand), an old friend of Jérémie's who still lives nearby, now married with a child. Upon his return, Jérémie can't shake the idea of leaving the place, and Vincent, offended by an intruder in his mother's house, tries to throw him out. He even accuses Jérémie of wanting to sleep with her. He doesn't know that Jérémie (who mentions an ex-girlfriend) is sexually interested in men; in fact, he was in love with Jean-Pierre and, in fact, still is. Then Vincent disappears, and Jérémie finds himself the focus of a police investigation and the suspicion of the locals, including a surly priest (Jacques Develay) who is spying; a stolid, slovenly former farmer named Walter (David Ayala); and Vincent's wife, Annie (Tatiana Spivakova). While Martine, grieving and upset, is determined to get to the bottom of what's going on, she finds that having Jérémie under her roof is helpful.
The disappearance plot, the circumstantial evidence, the love after death, and the religious connections (such as a striking confessional scene) have Hitchcockian overtones. Guiraudie heightens them to a shrieking intensity with another Hitchcockian element: sex, which Guiraudie discusses far more frankly than Hitchcock might have, given the constraints of his time. Guiraudie, himself gay and raised in a farming family, has made a career out of exploring the currents of desire that run through rural France, particularly the prevalence of queer life in traditional spaces. Another near-constant feature of Guiraudie’s films is sexual desire that transcends age, a classic cinematic device that often goes unnoticed but which Guiraudie insistently brings to the fore, both in his first major film, the short That Old Dream That Moves (2001), and in The Stranger by the Lake, which won him an award at Cannes. (Both of these films are available on the Criterion Channel.)
The driving force of Misericordia is the erotic connection that draws Jérémie back to his native village. He comes not only to pay his respects, but also to breathe the air that Jean-Pierre breathed, to be in his presence one last time, to reenter his aura, to enjoy his memory and his personal belongings – even, thanks to Martine’s generosity, to wear his clothes. (After putting on the deceased’s trousers and sweater, Jérémie does not hesitate to ask for his underwear and socks as well.) Vincent is not too happy about this. What’s more, Martine offers Jérémie a more solid and practical connection to her late husband: to take over his bakery, which is currently closed. Returning to the city as the prodigal son, Jérémie seems to be moving towards becoming a surrogate son. He also fits another cinematic archetype: the man from nowhere. He is supposed to have lived in Toulouse, and a former girlfriend is mentioned, but he reveals so little about his life that the details could be convenient fictions. It is as if his return has erased the events of the past decade, his present life emptied to make room for what remains of the past that can be resurrected.
Guiraudie is a director who focuses on locality
Sourse: newyorker.com
