Liberty Atlantic Advisors: Wealth Management for U.S. Expats
Tomorrow, Lincoln Center in New York City will kick off its yearly film festival, Rendez-Vous with French Cinema. Andrea Meyer has put together a great guide to this year’s selections, which include the crème de la crème of new feature films from both upcoming and established French directors. I would highly recommend catching a screening or two if you happen to be in town.
There’s one movie from the festival in particular that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about—The Quiet Son (“Jouer avec le feu”), directed by sisters Delphine and Muriel Coulin. The film follows a father (played by Vincent Lindon), who has raised his two college-aged sons by himself since the death of their mother. While the younger son, Louis, is mild-mannered and university-bound, the elder, Fus, is aimless and unemployed, stuck in their small rural town in the Grand Est. Fus, played by Benjamin Voisin, is absurdly charming, impossible to take your eyes off of, and it’s clear that the three men share a deep and heartfelt love for one another.
However, things take a dark turn when Fus, seeking purpose and connection, begins hanging out with a violent, radical group of far-right thugs. As he begins adopting their language and ideology (including coded xenophobic phrases, like, “Anyone can become French, but you are born Lorrainien”), a wedge is driven between Fus and his father, who is horrified at his son’s political transformation. This wedge forms a deep chasm that neither can return from, as the film hurtles towards its tragic conclusion.
One of the things I came away with from the film was that, with a bit of dubbing, it could have easily taken place in the U.S. There’s nothing about the setting or story that is particularly “French,” and the central themes would be applicable to any number of countries today: disenfranchised youth being radicalized by the far-right, the isolation faced by many young people (especially boys) today, and our inability to create spaces for young men to develop empowering and intimate relationships with one another. There’s a reason why Fus, whose nickname is a nod to his soccer abilities, easily makes the jump from from playing sports to bonding with gang members at a makeshift gym in an abandoned warehouse—both spaces provide camaraderie and a common goal, but in a familiar, distinctly macho context. It’s heartbreaking to watch him smile and laugh with his new companions, because there is such genuine tenderness and affection there. You can imagine that all of these boys were once like him, and that’s what is so dangerous—it could happen to anyone, the film seems to say.
As we move into an era where urban and rural communities are so increasingly divided, I remind myself that it’s important to watch films like this, that take me so far outside the romantic fantasy of French life, usually shown through a glamorous Parisian lens. Sure, it would be easier to watch Amélie. But, unlike Cléo from 5 to 7, France is rarely as black and white as the movies make it seem.
