This year is the year of France in Brazil, a celebration of all things French from music to art to fashion and gastronomy. Throughout the year, a lot of cultural events will be happening with France as the central theme; one in particular I'm looking forward to is an exhibition of Henri Cartier-Bresson's work, one which will bring photos of his from all around the world. Of course, many events have already come and gone, but one which began on Sunday and which aims to continue till the end of the year is Le Ciné Club here in São Paulo. They are showing films which show a more contemporary portrait of France, films which didn't receive wide distribution here if at all. I imagine that with these types of events, especially here in Brazil, their longevity is based entirely on their popularity rather than a confirmed set of films that would be shown indepedent of how many attended; inevitably, it's for financial reasons more than anything else. From what I saw on Sunday (March 29th), I don't think they have anything to worry about.
The film I went to see on Sunday morning was 'L'Esquive' or 'Games of Love and Chance' as is its title in English. I expected there to be a fair number of people but not too many since it was a relatively unknown film and because, after all, it was on a Sunday morning. How wrong I was. The public demand was so high that they had to show the film in two screens, both of which were packed to the last seat. The organisers, who said a few words before the film, were evidently visibly shocked. Their first showing was already such an overwhelming success that it probably eased many nerves. But onto the film.
It's a story set in the suburbs of Paris, in the equivalent of a council estate, where disillusioned teenagers spend their days trying to escape the boredom of their lives. For some, this involves vandalism (which, importantly is only suggested but never shown); for others, it's the preparation of an 18th century French comedy play. Krimo (Osman Elkharraz), having just been dumped by his girlfriend, is dragged along to a rehearsal by the fair-haired Lydia (Sara Forestier), much to the disdain of one of her fellow actors. He begins to take a larger interest in theatre, particularly in Lydia's "character", and decides he wants to play the part of her admirer in the play. As Krimo shuns his friends in favour of private rehearsals between him and Lydia, tensions rise among the teenagers until the young couple are forced to deal with their feelings once and for all.
The plot is somewhat inconsequential really, visibly and openly simple, allowing space for the environment, the characters, and in particular the language to take precedence and capture our attention. These characters are all trapped here, in every sense of the word; it's a reality that exists in droves today which many are ignorant of, their only knowledge of it being when they are shown images of riots and vandalism in these suburbs. For Krimo, his upbringing has been so limited that he's been denied the tools of expression that allow him to project his feelings of anger or happiness or any emotion. In one scene, as he and Lydia rehearse a scene in front of his class, the teacher continually insists that he give energy and vitality to his character, a character that is supposed to be infused with a joie de vivre. Krimo seems physically incapable of this, managing only to mumble his way through his lines with about as much emotion as a brick wall.
Where we do see emotions being expressed are through language and its constrasting uses, particular Lydia and her friends. Throughout the film, there's a heavy use of slang among the teenagers known as "verlan" in which words are said backwards, or rather syllables of words are said in reverse order. So, for example, femme (woman) becomes meuf. The word "verlan" itself is the reverse of "l'envers", meaning backwards. The presence of this contemporary dialect highlights the stark contrast between the French of the streets and the French we hear in the classroom or even in conversation with their parents. In effect, it's become their only method of communication with which they can project most comprenhesively their true feelings, invariably ones of frustration and aggression that are taken out on each other. One girl in particular, Frida (Sabrina Ouazani), spends pretty much the whole film shouting and arguing with absolutely everyone, although ironically she nearly always has reason to. These constant arguments may seem pointlessly long, but it is exactly this pointlessness that director Abdel Kechiche wants to draw out attention to, drawing them out in long scenes when others might have cut much earlier; it's even more telling (and impressive) since most of the film is scripted and not improvised as it appears. Only here can they express themselves freely and unabashedly since they themselves are the only ones who understand each other. Thus, it is the pointlessness that gives significance to these long exchanges.
Kechiche's style of extending scenes to their fullest reaches its apex near the end, in a scene involving the teenagers and the police, providing the film's most explicit social commentary. While Krimo and Lydia are forced to open up to each other by their friends, four policemen suddenly appear and forcibly search all the teenagers, treating them as if they guilty criminals. Soon enough, the policemen are even treating Lydia in the same way, patting her down vigorously as she silently tries to hold back her tears. The scene goes on for a good few minutes, with Kechiche employing a large amount of close-ups throughout that makes one feel as suffocated and violated as the the teenagers are feeling. It's a surprisingly intense and uncomfortable scene to watch, despite it's relative restraint in terms of physical violence. What makes it so powerful also has to do with the sympathy we feel for these characters: until this point, there is no mention of authority of any kind really, and we have seen that criminal activity is probably the last thing on the kids' minds. Yet they're reduced to an "easily identifiable" stereotype by the police so briskly and without any real proof, thus fueling the antagonistic relationship between the two groups. Whilst I don't think this is the central message of the film since it's more concerned with the teenagers' ongoing sense of disenfranchisement more so than pent-up anger, it's still hugely important to our understanding of them and is delivered brilliantly.
It must be said that it's not the easiest film to watch: listening to 15 year-olds arguing with each other for 2 hours doesn't sound like the most appealing thing in the world. Furthermore, the playful treatment of the French language in all its guises will be lost on anyone who isn't a confident French speaker (nearly all the verlan went completely over my head). But in the end, the payoff is worth it; stripped away from visual excesses and narrative diversions, the film delivers a genuine portrait of people trapped in an environment and a system that pin them down. Perhaps the saddest thing of all is that for many of them, any road out of that of this imprisonment will probably lead nowhere.
