Le Fils

`Rosetta', the previous movies made by the `brothers' - as Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne are referred to in Belgium - was great. What makes `Le Fils' even more enthusiasting is that the authors have now reached a point of perfection where they can tell us a sophisticate story which deals with some of the most devastating feelings we could face; but still, they treat the subject with an amazing simplicity and humanity. I could only compare this movies with some pieces of music by Charlie Haden: essential.

The Son is a movie about forgiveness, and how the very act of forgiving propels you forward as a human being. And to not only forgive the person who took away your son, but to become a guardian, a teacher to that person is an act of grace. Olivier exhibits this grace throughout the movie, but it is a grace that is not evident by just watching him on a day to day basis. You have have to follow him, listen to him, be with him constantly and understand his circumstances to realize this. I suppose, in a way, that many people possess this grace, but its hard to find it in them if you can't follow them around with a camera. Olivier, on the surface, would not seem like a very interesting person if you saw him on the street, or worked with him on a daily basis, and the boy seems like a dolt, but this movie makes them so interesting, so compassionate, not as characters, but as real people. It teaches you to look beneath the surface of things, of human beings, and if you look hard enough, you'll find beauty everywhere.

This is a MUST SEE film for any working actor.

As an actor, I often study films as I watch them, and I'm proud that as I was watching this movie I picked things out that were later mentioned in the commentaries as being done on purpose. For instance, one immediately notes the unique camera angles (at first it "followed" the main actor from behind, so you only saw his back... yet I was amazed at how much emotion and character was conveyed by his body language)... as the film progressed, I noted how few lines of dialog there were - and how utterly real the acting was. The hand-held camera led to a feeling of voyeurism, like we were actually there watching the watcher... the tension in the movie was palatable and kept me holding my breath... I was slightly disappointed in the very abrupt ending (it was so sudden I actually thought my DVD skipped a chapter)...

In watching the directors & actor's commentary I learned that the film was written FOR this particular actor (what an honor!) because he had had worked with the directors before.... the actor said he believed the body is the actor's instrument and his dream was to someday do a stage show where his back was to the audience the entire time! They also discussed their unique rehearsal process and such - really interesting to hear.... and after seeing this movie, I have now developed my own philosophy of acting: A beginning actor is at Stage 1 where you worry about remembering your lines.... A better actor is in stage 2 and they focus on delivery and HOW their lines are said and the emotions that go with it.... but the best actor is at stage 3 where the real acting is done BETWEEN the spoken lines and without any dialog at all.... that's what I felt this movie really reinforced - the tremendous acting ability done by a glance and body language.... it is in French with subtitles, but it really was a "thinker" of a movie... not something I would recommend to everyone, but a "must see" for any actor.

The rapt watchfulness of this film is almost intolerable.

The minutiae of the woodwork instructor protagonist's drab and solitary daily existence merely repel us at first: his opaque, inexpressive, sulky-looking face (on the rare occasions that we see it, as opposed to the back of his neck) seems to confirm that there is nothing here for us, nothing but the muffled dullness of a dead-end existence, nothing but the droning of power tools in the sullen workshop and the heating-up of tinned soup in the bare little apartment.

Then the film's remorseless attention to the mundane starts to hint at some turmoil of this man's inner life, which is being kept rigorously in check by everyday rituals: the conscientious painful sit-ups, the critical measurement of the trainees' clumsy work. Something unbearable is being borne. Some terrible price is being paid. Olivier is like some powerful caged mammal, ever darting just ahead the camera's reach. We fear for the boys in his domininion -- especially for the new trainee, whom he stalks with a feral intensity.

And now we learn the awful sadness of what ails Olivier, and what has brought everything to a head. Now the camera watches his every move with mixed dread and wonder. Now every little thing he does matters, as we struggle to gauge what he will do next. Now the details of just what nail to use, of the trick to carrying a heavy wooden lintel (so like a cross), become utterly compelling -- not as displacement activities, but as things that can be relied upon, as tangible truths.

And finally, on long drive to a timber yard one late-autumn weekend, we watch a miracle unfold: halting, clumsy, almost wordless, although there is a sort of confession, and a sort of catechism. Wet leaves still stick to the boy's back from a momentary struggle in a wood as the newly-cut planks are stacked, silently, in the trailer. Master and apprentice are joined by the mystery of their craft. A father without a son has found a son without a father.

And now, at last, we understand that the film's watchfulness has been Olivier's own: his need to observe, to assess, to measure up (something for which he has a peculiar knack), in order to decide how the right thing is to be done. For only then is it done decisively, deftly and truly.

That a film of such simplicity, unflinching honesty and moral intensity can be made today is itself little short of miraculous. In both its symbolic language and its belief in the possibility of grace, it is firmly rooted in a particular north-European pietistic (and specifically Catholic) tradition. But never mind about that. This is a genuine and beautifully modest masterpiece of humane realism.

The directors of 'The Son', brothers Jeane-Pierre and Luc Dardenne, are together experienced documentarians. This is made explicitly clear in the film's style, which affords the camera the rare opportunity in modern cinema to see rather than show. The difference is immense. Renoir, Ozu and Rossellini understood the difference, and now the Dardennes can be added to that illustrious list.

The Dardenne brothers are masters of exploding the minutiae of everyday life to beautiful, poetic proportions. Their films are largely concerned with observing people at work (see also Rosetta and La Promesse), obsessively detailing the intricate structures and routines of the mundane, the everyday. Hitchcock famously described film as life with the boring bits removed; a Dardenne film is life with the boring bits dissected, investigated and ultimately celebrated.

The film is about all the sons - the sons that were, the sons that are and the sons that will be - and all should see it.