Counting Down the Zeroes 2003: The Son

Here's my second review for the year 2003 for Film for the Soul's Counting Down the Zeroes project -- click the link and check out all of the other fine entries for the year 2003.

I think Roger Ebert said it best when he reviewed The Son upon its 2003 theatrical release: “All a critic can bring to it is admiration. It needs no insight or explanation.” So, what else is there to say then? If I say the film is brilliant, then how is it brilliant? That’s the thing about the films of the Dardenne Brothers, it’s not so much how it is brilliant – the aesthetics are your typical (seemingly) simple minimalist tactics: over the shoulder shots, voyeuristic tight shots, and long takes with no musical score to tap us on the shoulder and tell us it’s time to feel something – it’s the why that makes it different. The Dardenne’s make films about something. They rely on the audiences expectations that something has to happen, and then revel in letting things just play out with a total disregard for how popular film and television have trained us to see a scene. The Dardenne’s look at their subjects with the precision of an expert artisan; they measure, assay, and then proudly display to us their findings. And Ebert’s right, all one can do is show their admiration, because really, what filmmakers trust their audiences enough to understand that it is in the small, quiet moments of the banality of everyday life where the most profound truths can be discovered.


The Dardenne’s finest film is indeed The Son, a film with a title that aptly represents their style of filmmaking: simple and to the point. We know there is a man named Olivier (played by Olivier Gourmet who one the Best Actor prize at Cannes that year) and that he works at a trade school. He teaches carpentry to boys fresh out of juvenile prison. One day he is approached to take a boy named Francis. He cannot because they are full; however, Olivier sees something in the boy and begins stalking him, sizing him up and trying to find out as much as he can about him. Countless films have trained audiences to think that one of the following will occur: Olivier sees potential in the boy and will turn him into a proper citizen through hard labor and lots of on-camera soul searching, Olivier is a pedophile who stalks children, or Olivier is the boy’s father. None of these are true, although the first instance does sort of occur as Olivier tells the woman in charge of placement that he can take the boy in his wood shop.

We get small slices of insight into Olivier’s life. One night after work Olivier is visited by a woman. They trade pleasantries, but Olivier seems detached – fiercely focused on what seems like the rude and inappropriate practice of soup – while his guest stands and looks at him. We come to find out that this is Olivier’s ex-wife. She is getting re-married and is pregnant. Olivier wonders why she had to tell him this today. She says because I am off on Wednesday’s. He replies “why this Wednesday.” It’s exchanges like this that make me adore the Dardenne’s and extol them as two of the most important filmmakers working today. The way they carefully mete out the information in the scene – so that the viewer is now assuming the correlations between the films title and Olivier and his ex-wife – is a perfect example of how, when used properly, the effects of minimalist cinema are some of the most powerful tools a filmmaker can use.

When Olivier begins to take a more blatant, vested interest in Francis certain truths are revealed that I dare not give away. We soon begin to see the relevance of the film’s title, and we begin to see that The Son is a film with many religious allegories (work/labor as penance, grace, faith through works/deeds versus forgiveness, revenge/forgiveness); however, it is not interested in your generic apprenticeship type storyline. The two have brief conversations, usually interrupted by work or table soccer, but eventually Olivier finds out what Francis did to get locked up, and it’s from that point on that the film starts to unravel deep pain and truths that are the rarest of commodities in film.

I hesitate to divulge too much more information – sure the film has been out for six years now, but if you haven’t seen the film I implore you to do so now. This is the type of film that can elevate the soul to places that we normally associate with the great pieces of classical music, poetry, literature, philosophical or religious inquiry, etc. I guess what I’m trying to say is that, as cheesy as it sounds, this film has the ability to change you, and I wouldn’t want to spoil that by giving away plot points – even though a film as good as this rises above any kind of “spoiler warning”.

The aesthetics of the film are typical of the Dardenne’s and of this particular film movement. The Dardenne’s simply observe the action in the film – they let the audience watch intently knowing that they don’t need to “punch up” any scenes with visual or dramatic élan. The film is simple, and there isn’t a lot that “happens” in traditional film speak, but despite the so-called simplicities of The Son it is a film that is extremely intense and superbly crafted. You watch with that kind of undivided attention as if you were listening to a really good lecture or trying to eavesdrop on an interesting conversation in a coffee shop.

The plot is not sitcomy. There are moments where Olivier is alone with Francis and we assume the worst. Specifically I’m thinking of the scene where the two are cutting wood with a saw, and because of how we’ve been trained by lesser films we think something bad is going to happen; but no, the Dardenne’s aren’t interested in that, they’re interested in the craft of what Olivier does – they film the scene and watch him with just as much precision and care as Olivier is applying to sawing the wood…it’s an amazing scene that, despite seeming simple enough, is a rarity in film.

The film is a masterpiece because the Dardenne’s understand this simple truth: when adult mentors make an impact in a young person’s life, the change that may occur rarely looks like the way it is portrayed in movies like Freedom Writers or Good Will Hunting. The process of transformation is usually a slow burn (I’m speaking form experience here as I’m a teacher at a school with the same kinds of kids as Francis), and the Dardenne’s use of minimalist staples help punctuate that sentiment; sure there are epiphanies, but rarely do they occur in such an over-the-top manner. The banality of it all is actually what makes The Son work – what makes it uber-real, here the banality is a good thing, a platform for the Dardenne’s to show that it’s often in the banal that the most change occurs.

Yes, Olivier is teaching Francis a trade, but he’s doing much more than that, and when you see the movie (or if you have you know what I’m speaking about here), and you’re made aware of certain information that the characters have, it makes the ending all the more powerful. Why? Because of what it not done. Too often we have been trained to expect something to “happen”, because everything in film these days has to have foreshadowing or a “big” climax; a crescendo or coda that really makes the viewer feel like they experienced something. That’s Hollywood, though; in real life it’s the small moments that make the difference, and they often go missed if you’re not looking for them. My vocational experiences have shown me that these are the moments when the marginalized, troubled kids like Francis learn…not in shouting matches or big emotional breakdowns, but in silence, working side by side – by simply being. No one in film understands this more than the Dardenne’s, and when the film ends in typical Dardenne fashion, just as banal as what has preceded it, all you can do is shake your head in gratitude that somebody got it right.

The Son is a masterpiece without the pomp or pretension found in the minimalist cinema of John Cassavetes or Lars von Trier. The Dardenne’s are able to evoke great emotion from the simplest (without drawing attention to how stripped back those moments are like the aforementioned filmmakers) through silence and astute observation. There’s something refreshing about the way the Dardenne’s have managed to even strip back elements of the minimalist movement to create a fly-on-the-wall type of film that allows us to sit and breathe and ponder next to these characters.

So, Ebert was right. I haven’t added much insight with this “review” into the themes this film broaches. Part of that is because I don’t want to give away some of the films deeper moments by ruining things for first time viewers, but ultimately I think it proves Ebert’s point that when one talks about The Son all the critic can do is admire it. There’s no critical deconstruction necessary because the Dardenne’s leave it all out there in their film; they don’t deal with nuances, but they’re not over-the-top, either. They simply observe and then proceed in displaying what they set out to do. I guess the most suitable way to wrap this up is with another quote from Ebert’s great review: “The Son needs no insight or explanation. It sees everything and explains all. It is as assured and flawless a telling of sadness and joy as I have ever seen.” There is no need for me to further explain the brilliance of this film. Ebert, obviously, says it better than I ever could, and it's pretty clear to this humble blogger that The Son is without question the best film of 2003.

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DVD Review: Le Cercle Rouge

There’s a certain kind of aura to Jean-Pierre Melville’s films; a kind of gravitational pull that sucks you into the story and places you in the most wonderful kind of reverie. True, there isn’t much that “happens” in Melville’s films, but they are always teeming with a confidence, a certain suaveness that is seen through all of Melville’s characters, especially Corey and Vogel from Melville’s 1970 crime masterpiece Le Cercle Rouge. When one watches Melville you know you are in the hands of a master.

Like all of Melville’s films there is a deliberate pace, with minimal post production, that allows the viewer to sit back and fully take in what is happening on the screen. There may be a scene that goes on for five minutes that contains two people looking at each other, but these scenes are never plodding, rather they allow the viewer to fill in the blanks, drawing their own conclusions about the histories Melville’s characters might have shared. When you watch a Melville film you are in the presence of a master hypnotist; it’s a state of reverie you won’t find in any of the other French New Wave filmmakers – who always seemed to want to distract you with a barrage of freeze frames and other New Wave tactics. Rohmer, Resnais, Malle, Goddard, and Truffaut; all of them shrink in comparison to Melville, and Le Cercle Rouge is a perfect film to admit as evidence.



Loneliness is not what you come to expect from crime/caper films; nor are deep existential themes: themes of chance, happenstance, and a general “what if?” feeling. Where’s the fun in that? Jean-Pierre Melville’s Le Cercle Rouge tackles some of these unconventional themes (for a crime film, anyway); however, it’s also an utter joy to watch in addition to being deeply contemplative.

The film begins with a quote from the Buddhist Ramayana that gives the viewer some insight into how the film will play out. The quote mentions that people who perform the same duties will eventually meet within the red circle. Luck, chance, or happenstance is what guides these people into the red circle. The two characters who encounter each other through chance are Vogel (Gian-Maria Volonte), a recently escaped convict, and Corey (Alain Delon), a recently released convict. Corey knows of a heist that “can’t miss” from a police guard in the prison who is actually friends with Corey.

Corey, upon his release, pays a visit to his old mob boss Rico. Corey steals his gun and some money and then tells him he’ll pay him back. He then leaves to play some billiards late at night (an old stomping ground perhaps), and it is here we see what Corey is capable of doing as he quickly dispatches two henchmen sent from Rico. Corey then buys a car, stops to eat at a restaurant, and there is when he and Vogel will meet.

Vogel has just escaped from a train, being guarded by policeman Mattei (André Bourvil). Mattei knows Vogel better than anyone, and like any good Melville film, the opening of the film is played out with little to no exposition; so, it’s on the viewer to try to fill in the blanks and the assumed long standing cat/mouse relationship these two have. In a wonderfully executed (and mostly silent) escape scene, Vogel finds himself at the diner that Corey is at. He hops in the trunk of his car, and when Corey is at the next check point (the police have set up barricades to look for Vogel at this point) Corey claims that the dealership never gave him the key for the trunk, when at an earlier check point, before Vogel jumped in his car, he opened the trunk, no problem. Again, this is one of those brilliant little moments that Melville stages that says so much by saying so little, and the onus, once again is on the viewer to make that connection.

Corey and Vogel finally meet as Corey drives out into the middle of nowhere and tell Vogel he can come out of the trunk and that he’s safe. Corey tosses him some cigarettes as a sign of friendship, and these two professional criminals can tell just by looking at each other that they can trust one another, and that Corey saved Vogel because of the unwritten code that criminals abide by.

That’s essentially your set up for what is a fantastic, and highly influential, crime film. Vogel and Corey recruit Jansen (Yves Montand), an ex-police sharpshooter to join their jewel heist plans. Mattei, searching for Vogel still, now realizes that he may be searching for more people. He is under a lot of pressure from his boss, the police director (who is pure existential style gives a speech about how all men are guilty) so he visits an old informant friend Santi, the owner of the nightclub, to help him act as an informant and bring down Corey and Vogel.

The plot is intricate, but executed in the most simplistic, minimalist way possible – that is not to say that the film isn’t deep; rather, its simplicity allows for those wonderful moments of contemplation I alluded to earlier: where the viewer is drawing their own conclusions and creating their own past histories for these characters. The film contains scene after scene of brilliantly understated coolness. It all leads to one of the most brilliantly executed and taut heist scenes I’ve ever seen in a film – all without the aid of post production or unnecessary expository dialogue during the scene. The heist scene is at least 30 minutes long, but the scene is filmed as if the viewer were doing the job with the criminals. It’s highly effective and never boring; it’s definitely the highlight of the film, and Melville didn’t have to ‘sex’ up the scene to make it more ‘interesting’ or ‘entertaining’ for the viewer – he trusts the scene to be interesting enough to keep the viewer on the edge of their seat. That is what makes Melville’s films so fascinating: he doesn’t have to say much for the viewer to draw some pretty deep conclusions about the film. Plus, compounding on all of that is the very basic element (and ultimate goal of film) that this film is extremely entertaining.

Melville has had somewhat of a resurgence in the last ten years. He’s now getting the recognition as one of the premiere New Waver’s, and his influence is all over the films of directors like Steven Soderbergh (more aesthetically than anything) and especially Jim Jarmusch (Ghost Dog has a lot of Melville in it, think of the deliberate pace of that film, as well as other Jarmusch films that are existential exercises that say very little and allow the view to contemplate the film has it is happening).

His Influence on Soderbergh’s Ocean’s Twelve, specifically, is apparent: everything from the locations, to the way they pull of the heist, to the way Soderbergh dresses up Casey Affleck to look like Corey. Soderbergh has always been indebted to the French New Wave with his copious amounts of zooms (both pulling in and out) and his love jazzy music accompanying his camera on a long pull in, usually focusing on a woman walking down the street (I’m specifically thinking of the introduction to Catherine-Zeta Jones’ character in Ocean’s Twelve; very New Wave). So, it’s great to see these two great filmmakers taking after a somewhat forgotten (until recently) figure of the French New Wave.

I mentioned earlier about the loneliness found in the film: this is not the style of crime film that Scorsese would popularize a few years later with Mean Streets, then in the 90’s with Goodfellas, and culminating in Casino: all films about professional criminals (specifically Italian mobsters/gangsters in Scorsese’s world) that experience varying degrees of success, only to come crashing down by the films climax. So too do Vargas and Corey experience some good times, mostly in regards to their new found friendship – the heist goes off well, too – but how fitting that Melville end his suave, confident crime film about suave, confident criminals with his two main characters shot and dirtied, their downfall is not as operatic or theatrical as Scorsese’s gangsters, but it’s just as tragic.

As mentioned earlier the film is not merely an existential contemplative exercise – it has style to spare. Melville’s aesthetics are nothing like his fellow New Waver’s, he is far more subtle, but Le Cercle Rouge’s attitude is in the same spirit as Godard’s film, for instance, and you’re always certain that you’re in the hands of a master. Melville gives most of his actors the onus of carrying the attitude and portraying the suave criminals, so that the effect is far more subtle. Consider Corey: he never shoots anyone, but when he holds a gun, he looks like he knows what he’s doing with it. Look at the way Melville’s characters smoke a cigarette – countless filmmakers have probably coached their actors on how to be cool by referencing Melville, and specifically this film. That attitude and style elevate it from being simply a morose, existential character study about the loneliness of criminals (although that is definitely lurking in Melville’s films, especially Le Samourai). Melville, more than anything else, seems interested in the camaraderie, the friendship of this rag-tag group of criminals that occurred through mere happenstance. If Corey’s trunk wouldn’t have been available, then he would have never met Vogel.

About chance: this is something that as a professional criminal you would not subscribe to. Look at the contrast between the meticulously planned heist at the end of the film, and the chance meeting between Corey and Vogel. Melville likes to play with the notion of happenstance and how it ultimately acts as the downfall for these criminals; which makes sense, because really a criminal who relies solely on luck is bound to get caught.

The film is also a masterpiece in mis-en-scene. Consider the still above: Corey is talking with Jansen about selling off the jewelery they just stole. Jansen explains to Corey that he doesn't want his cut of the loot. Corey has freed him of his demons (there is a very bizarre nightmare scene as we are introduced to Jansen, as obviously he did something as a policeman that he wasn't proud of) and that is enough of a payment. An odd thing to say for a criminal, and look at the picture on the wall as Corey and Jansen are talking. There's a gun pointed a Corey, knowing that he is about to set foot in a trap Melville slyly foreshadows Corey's suicide mission of selling the jewelry to someone he's never sold to before. It's a great piece of blocking by Melville, and it's evident throughout his films.

I have a special affinity for Melville: when I was about 13 I was a huge fan of John Woo, especially is beautiful ballet of violence The Killer. When I read an interview with Woo stating that Melville’s Le Samourai was the inspiration for his film, specifically the main character played by Chow Yun-Fat, I immediately ran out to find a copy of Melville’s film. Well the film was a little too slow for this 13 year old, but something did indeed happen while I watched the film: I realized that film didn’t exist just to keep us busy with bullets flying and explosions on screen. My eyes were opened to the possibilities of what film could offer; so, even though I kind of thought Le Samourai was boring then, I stuck with it until the end, and found it to be one of the most rewarding film experiences of my life. It ushered me into a new kind of film-going experience, an experience that now included an array of films from all over the world, and I now saw that film could be thought about during the viewing of the film: Melville’s film invited me, offered me the opportunity to contemplate what the film meant in between scenes, not just when the credits rolled. That’s when I was hooked. So even though my assessment of Le Cercle Rouge may be a bit biased, containing just the slightest taint of nostalgia, I don’t think that’s such a bad thing. It’s a great entertainment, a great contemplative film, and a great example of why the French New Wave was so hugely popular and influential.



There is a remake in the works with Chow Yun-Fat, Liam Neeson, and (gulp) Orlando Bloom as Corey. You can read about some of the details on imdb.

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