I had not planned to write any comments about this excellent and poetic film, but J.M.'s review, good so far as it goes, dwells too much on Dan Bigras' direction alone. J.M.'s assessment of the dialog seems misconceived, too. Something should be said, too, about the actors, especially two of the young males.
The young street kids in the film, especially Francis (portrayed by Alexandre Castonguay) and Éric (acted by Patrick Martin) are not entirely kids who grew up in the slums of Montréal. Francis, for his part, has run away from a solid, quasi-middle class working man's home, rebelling against his oppressive father; Éric is a precociously artistic boy, whose innate talents go to accomplishing much more than the typical slum kid type spray-painting on street walls (although his character does just that, too). It is natural for them to speak in a more cultivated manner than many of the other street kids in the movie who are from more disadvantaged backgrounds.
The actors playing those two roles both Québécois (as are the other actors) are exceedingly pretty young men. Alexandre Castonguay, whose character, Francis, is ambiguously bisexual, is angelically gorgeous, rugged enough also to thrash his father credibly, something well suiting him to the film's moniker, which resonates with his title part. (Castonguay has aged physically a lot by the time that he made his subsequent films, although he remains a young man of more raffishly appealing physical allure.) Patrick Martin also is very good-looking, in a more fragile but appealing way, well suiting the vulnerable gay youth whom he depicts. Both are part of a street gang and pair up as "brothers" therein, Éric being useful to the gang for his talent as a graffiti artist. The other cast members all have looks which reflect their respective personalities and roles.
There is a scene of such haunting beauty that it simply cries out for separate mention. Pierre Lebeau plays the part of a sort of aging beatnik poet, who likes to wear worn-out episcopal vestments and to recite poetry at a low-life bar. (The others refer to him as "Notre Pape", a pontiff of the slums, as it were.) He intones a beautiful poem to shimmering, lovely percussion accompaniment (visibly played in the film) that is one of the most intensely poetic scenes that ever I have seen in a motion picture for mass audience consumption. It would be worth seeing the film (which is available on DVD) if it were only for this striking moment during it!
