Noi e Loro , directed by French sisters Delphine and Muriel Coulin, is a poignant and timely exploration of familial bonds, ideological divides, and the fragility of understanding in an increasingly polarized world. Premiered at the 81st Venice Film Festival in September 2024, where Vincent Lindon won the Coppa Volpi for Best Actor, the film arrives in theaters with a weighty reputation and a pressing relevance. Released in Italy on February 27, 2025, it offers a stark, unflinching look at a father grappling with his son's descent into far-right extremism-a narrative that resonates deeply in today's socio-political climate.
The story centers on Pierre (Vincent Lindon), a 50-something railway worker who has single-handedly raised his two sons, Louis and Fus, after the death of their mother. Lindon's portrayal of Pierre is the film's beating heart-quietly stoic yet brimming with unspoken pain. Pierre is a man of simple values: hard work, decency, and a belief in solidarity, shaped by his blue-collar life in eastern France. His younger son, Louis (Benjamin Voisin), embodies ambition and intellectual curiosity, leaving home to study at the Sorbonne in Paris. In contrast, Fus (played with brooding intensity by newcomer Stefan Crepon) is the restless, underachieving elder son, drawn to the allure of violence and power offered by a local far-right group. As Fus drifts further into this dangerous ideology-antithetical to everything Pierre stands for-the family unravels, exposing the chasm between "us" and "them" within their own home.
The Coulins, known for their sharp social commentary (17 Girls, The Stopover), adapt Petitmangin's novel with a restrained yet visceral style. The film eschews melodrama for a slow-burn tension, letting the rift between Pierre and Fus unfold through subtle glances, terse exchanges, and the heavy silence of a house once filled with closeness. Cinematographer Guillaume Deffontaines captures the industrial bleakness of their small-town setting-rusted train tracks, gray skies, and flickering lights-mirroring the emotional desolation that creeps into their lives. Pierre's nighttime work on the rails, illuminated only by his torch, becomes a metaphor for his desperate search for clarity amid his son's radicalization.
Lindon's performance is nothing short of masterful. He imbues Pierre with a weary dignity, his lined face and deliberate movements conveying a man burdened by love and shame. The Venice jury was right to honor him; his quiet unraveling as he confronts Fus's hateful rhetoric is devastatingly real. Crepon, meanwhile, brings a volatile edge to Fus, making him neither a cartoonish villain nor a sympathetic victim-just a lost young man seduced by a toxic sense of belonging. The dynamic between them is the film's core, though Louis's underdeveloped arc feels like a missed opportunity to deepen the family portrait.
Where Noi e Loro excels is in its refusal to offer easy answers. It doesn't preach or judge; instead, it asks uncomfortable questions about how far love can stretch before it breaks and whether dialogue is possible when beliefs become battle lines. The Coulins deftly weave in the broader context of France's (and Europe's) struggle with rising extremism, yet the focus remains intimate-a father and son divided by more than politics. Some may find the pacing deliberate to a fault, and the ending, while emotionally resonant, leaves certain threads unresolved, perhaps intentionally so.
At 110 minutes, Noi e Loro is a sobering meditation on division, both personal and societal. It's not a film that entertains so much as it provokes, lingering like a shadow long after the credits roll. Lindon's towering presence and the Coulins' unflinching gaze make it a powerful, if challenging, watch-one that feels all too urgent in 2025.
