Catimini

Powerful stuff, filmed with quiet precision, and so well acted it often feels like a documentary. Though it can certainly be read as an indictment of the policies of the DPJ (the controversial institution charged with protecting abused children in Québec), the film is much more: a unique child's view of an uncaring society, and an audacious look at the way its inability to deal with feeling (in children and adults alike) leads almost inevitably to abuse. It's final third (think "Festen" – but with a twist) is sure to divide audiences, but is of a piece with the rest of this stark, yet surprisingly moving look at childhood in a largely indifferent world. A rare and remarkable film, indeed.

Unsentimental yet profoundly moving story of four young girls going from one foster home to another, this small independent film paints an extremely touching portrait of children left to their own devices in an often uncaring world. The film's main strength is its almost documentary feel, its constantly affecting – yet never maudlin – approach, and the uniformly strong performances of its quartet of four young actresses (aged from 6 to 18) whose different (yet often similarly sad) destinies can be read as that of a single character. But what ultimately makes this film so memorable is the way writer-director Nathalie St-Pierre embraces the point of view of each of these girls, filming only what the see, ear of feel, forcing us to share the ruptures that punctuates their lives, their constant feeling of helplessness, of life being not much more than a series of dislocations and broken relationships. The film's last part bring the four young girls together on the evening of a celebration honouring one of the foster families where they all briefly lived, on the occasion of the arrival of their 100th child. An event which will finally allow the girls to see how little they mattered to their one-time foster family, while giving one of the girls the occasion to try to avenge them all – however briefly. Ultimately, St-Pierre's film is an extremely affecting indictment of society's indifference to those it pretends to care for. Even-handed in its approach ("Everyone has his reasons", as Renoir said in "The Rules of the Game", and the main culprit here is not anyone's malevolence, just everyone's indifference), this small gem is a quiet yet powerful film, full of justified anger, yet filled with even more tenderness for its young characters. It is, quite simply, one of the most moving films about childhood that I have ever seen (next to Pialat's "L'enfance nue" and Truffaut's "400 Blows"). Don't miss it