Canadian, Sniper

Arnaud plays a decorated Canadian sniper whose life has been shaped by his years in the military. Now home, he struggles to reintegrate into society while carrying the emotional scars of his time in Afghanistan. What makes the film so powerful is its refusal to sugarcoat the realities of PTSD. The film immerses us in his world-his insomnia, flashbacks, and difficulty connecting with loved ones-and forces us to confront the often-hidden cost of war.

Directed with precision and heart, the movie provides a deep exploration of PTSD and its ripple effects on a former army sniper's life after returning from Afghanistan. Unlike many war films that focus on the battlefield, this one masterfully shifts the lens to the inner battle that soldiers face long after the fighting ends.

Francois Arnaud delivers a tour-de-force performance in Canadian Sniper, a film that is as thought-provoking as it is emotionally gripping.

The screenplay, doesn't rely on clichés or melodrama to tell the story. Instead, it feels authentic, raw, and unflinching. We watch as the nameless sniper wrestles with feelings of guilt, shame, and isolation, yet the film never reduces him to a stereotype. He's a fully realized, complex character, and Arnaud's performance gives him incredible depth. Whether he's silently making breakfast, visibly grappling with a traumatic memory, or trying to make sense of his place in a world that feels alien to him, Arnaud conveys every emotion with breathtaking nuance.

Visually, Canadian Sniper is stunning. The cinematography captures both the stark beauty of Canada's wilderness and the suffocating confines of urban life.

The film's pacing is deliberate, allowing the audience to fully absorb the protagonists experiences without rushing to a resolution. This might not appeal to viewers looking for a traditional war movie or an action-packed narrative, but for those who appreciate a character-driven story, it's an absolute gem. The sound design also deserves praise; the muffled explosions and eerie silences during flashbacks make the audience feel as though they're experiencing the trauma right alongside him.

What truly sets Canadian Sniper apart is its message. While it doesn't shy away from the harrowing effects of war, it's ultimately a story of resilience and hope. The sniper's journey is about finding the strength to face his demons and take steps toward healing, however small. The film doesn't offer easy answers or neatly tied-up endings, but it leaves you with a sense of quiet optimism.

A strange dramatic thriller trying so hard to be a character study on loneliness, alienation and PTSD, "Canadian, Sniper" offers a great solitary acting moment to François Arnaud (Xavier Dolan's boyfriend in "I Killed My Mother") as he silently wanders back home in the wilderness of Canada, after many tours in Iraq as a dedicated sniper. He retreats to his father's farm (they barely speak to each other, except for "Good coffee" or "Excellent coffee"), takes care of everything but deep down in the quietness of it all the sniper is too focused on potential attacks that'll never happen as he's too conditioned with the military routine. Hunting animals or meeting with other hunters might look as risky things, but he's trained to deal with dangerous scenarios, though a little rusty with his new acquired weapons.

There was a material to be worked here with its analysis on how certain skills and habits can affect a man's life, a man who feel the need for action and killing, and he barely knows that the real problem is all inside his head, with his loneliness and his inability to form a deep connection with another human being. The war made him insensitive, but thanks to the sheriff (Lothaire Bluteau), friend of his dad, there's a sense of hope and different things.

Unfortunately, the film is not so good. It relies on long, silent sequences that go on forever, at times with the camera being out of focus, and there isn't a real sense of tragedy or urgency as we follow the lonely sniper and try to figure out what's really happening and what's just things from his head. The director tries to borrow some elements from "Taxi Driver" (the bubbling alka seltzer shot inside the glass as it looking back at the main character was changed to a cup of tea; plus the alienation theme) and even "The Deer Hunter" (the environment and snipers), but mostly is a festival of countless silent moments, few interesting dialogues, but not much of a higher purpose to intrigue audiences, neither make them thrilled. Things come and go without reasoning or a further development (like his meeting with the waitress, a schoolmate he didn't remembered) and it's easy to get frustrated or bored by the picture.

I enjoyed Arnaud's performance with all of the challenges given to him, as he isn't allowed to demonstrate emotions, must stay reserved and cold, but slowly you'll get to see a different side of him, more caring and human. But it's clear to see that this accomplished sniper will never find a good way to return to civilian life, it's too difficult for him to detach himself from his past, the things he saw during wartime and what haunts him, or maybe a deep desire to be at war with whatever might come his way. And the tragedy is that the film never hits the right notes to come up with a relevant thriller about that scenario and this particular character. 5/10.

Michel Kandinsky's Canadian Sniper is a film that rewards patience but demands a lot of it. A deliberately paced and introspective story about a nameless Canadian army sniper grappling with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), the film offers profound moments of insight and empathy. However, its slow burn and minimalist approach may leave some viewers feeling more disconnected than moved.

The protagonist, played by Francois Arnaud, remains unnamed throughout the film-a choice that invites the audience to see him as a universal figure. Arnaud delivers a performance steeped in subtlety, capturing the sniper's emotional isolation with restraint and precision. His haunted expressions and physicality convey a man weighed down by invisible scars. Yet, for all his commitment, the lack of backstory or narrative progression occasionally makes it hard to truly connect with his character on an emotional level.

Kandinsky's direction is thoughtful, if at times overly restrained. His choice to eschew traditional war-movie tropes, focusing instead on the quiet aftermath of combat, is admirable. The film resists easy answers or dramatic catharsis, opting instead for a slow, observational style. But there are moments when the silence feels indulgent rather than meaningful, as though the film is more concerned with its aesthetic than its emotional resonance.

The real standout here is Duraid Munajim's cinematography. The visual language of Canadian Sniper is rich and evocative, using light, shadow, and composition to reflect the protagonist's inner turmoil. Urban settings are cold and oppressive, with stark lighting that emphasizes the sniper's sense of alienation. Scenes set in the Canadian wilderness are expansive and serene, offering glimpses of the peace the protagonist is searching for.

Munajim's use of long takes and carefully framed shots enhances the film's meditative quality, but it also contributes to the slow pace. For viewers who can appreciate the artistry, the cinematography is a rewarding experience. However, those looking for a more engaging narrative might find themselves frustrated.

The slow pace and minimalist approach of Canadian Sniper will not appeal to everyone. For some, the film's deliberate rhythms and lack of traditional structure will feel like a refreshing departure from formulaic storytelling. For others, it will feel like an endurance test, its emotional payoff too slight to justify the time it demands.

When Canadian Sniper works, it works beautifully. The film's quiet moments-like a hesitant conversation with a therapist or a solitary walk through the woods-are deeply affecting, offering glimpses of the sniper's humanity. Kandinsky's refusal to wrap things up neatly is a brave choice, reflecting the messy, ongoing nature of healing.

However, these moments are scattered within a narrative that often feels too sparse for its own good. While the film's meditative style is undoubtedly intentional, it risks alienating viewers who might otherwise connect with its themes.

This is not a film for everyone, and that's okay. For those willing to meet it on its own terms, Canadian Sniper offers a quiet, meditative exploration of trauma and healing. But its rewards are hard-earned, and its deliberate pace may prove a barrier to all but the most patient of viewers.