On the Adamant
"Sur l'Adamant" is not a conventional documentary. Like his colleagues Frederick Wiseman and Raymond Depardon, director Nicolas Philibert has a quality of vision, and a modesty too, that keeps him off the beaten track.
In this case, Philibert chooses to tell us about patients being treated for mental disorders by taking the scenic route. To begin with, he spares us the cold walls of psychiatric hospitals and the speeches of therapists, not that they are uninteresting but necessarily coming from people who « know better ». On the contrary, Philibert insists on keeping to the human level, presenting us with real people, not 'patients', i.e. Beings confined to their illness. Muriel, François, Sébastien, Frédéric and the others are certainly a little strange, a little offbeat, but they are people in their own right, who can feel, think, have a sense of humour and create. Perhaps it's even this offbeat aspect that allows us to sweep our brains clean and chase away our preconceived notions of 'madness'. You'll be pleasantly surprised by the lightness and whimsy atmosphere that emanate from 'Sur l'Adamant' - despite an inevitable undercurrent of seriousness linked to the mental condition of the participants.
This magic is also due to the place where this small community of patients and therapists meet, with as little hierarchy as possible: a wooden barge, The Adamant, built specifically to house a day-care centre. On this floating hospital annex, the treatment of nervous disorders is particularly atypical in that patients and caregivers are 'co-authors' of their care. People feel encouraged there to exchange ideas, take part in physical, artistic and/or cultural activities. Some even gather to do the association's accounts.
Nicolas Philibert, who has an uncanny ability to plunge us into a vibrant community of activity ("La Ville Louvre", "Être et avoir", "La Maison de la Radio"), once again propels us into the heart of a group, which astonishes and delights us.
Without adding the slightest commentary, filming with simplicity, the documentary-maker makes us friends with people who are funny (like the inimitable Muriel Thourond), confusing, poetic, lucid (when they are under treatment) and artistic (the beautiful painting of a painter's daughter, the musician who plays the electric guitar very well, Frédéric Prieur, the writer of songs and other kinds fiction with whimsical theories but undeniable talent).
A little masterpiece of humanism, tenderness and humour, the antithesis of 'Snake Pit', 'Shock Corridor' or 'One Flew Over a Cuckoo's Nest', or rather their direct complement.
"L'Adamant" is waiting for you. Come and join the club.
