Falcon Lake

 

Director Charlotte Le Bon

Le Bon with young actor Joseph Engel

The director on the set

Le Bon with Sara Montpetit and Joseph Engel

FALCON LAKE                    B                                                                                                Canada  France  (100 mi)  2022  d: Charlotte Le Bon

If you feel the stories, it’s because they exist.                                                                             —Chloé (Sara Montpetit)

Premiering at Director’s Fortnight at Cannes in 2022, this is ostensibly a ghost story taking place over a summer holiday, where awakened sexual desires give rise to darker impulses, where a shadowy netherworld that feels ethereal and dreamlike seems to follow several of these characters around, but they are the only ones attuned to it.  “You have to be intelligent to find others intelligent,” said French Canadian director Charlotte Le Bon when she appeared at the Toronto Film Festival at the opening screening of her first feature film.  Growing up in Québec before moving to Paris, Le Bon worked as an actress for various French directors while also exploring her passion for art, developing a taste for strangeness through paintings, drawings, and lithographs.  She wrote and directed her first short film JUDITH HOTEL (2018), which invited the strangeness and the dreamlike when it premiered at Cannes.  Co-written by the director with François Choquet, shot by Kristof Brandl on grainy 16mm, with its use of the 4:3 format, a limited amount of time on each reel, and its twilight atmosphere, it evokes the horror genre, recalling the slasher films of cabin-in-the-woods settings, with posters for Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960) and Murnau’s NOSFERATU (1922) on a bedroom wall, and an electronic score from Stockholm-based pianist and composer Shida Shahabi creating layers of tension and suspense, accentuating a disconcertingly eerie mood, where the ruminative, atmospherically dense drama subverts the coming-of-age drama with an everpresent sense of dread.  Seen through the brooding eyes of Bastien (Joseph Engel), a shy 13-year old Parisian who is on holiday with his family renting a cabin in rural Quebec, a young boy with delicate sensibilities, he is enthralled with and becomes increasing close to Chloé (Sara Montpetit), the more outgoing and often idiosyncratic 16-year-old daughter of an old friend of his mother, with both families sharing the same cabin.  Like many films shot today, it has a realist aesthetic, where the minimalist narrative is overshadowed by an infused atmospheric tension, almost like a John Carpenter film, recalling Robert David Mitchell’s It Follows (2014), yet more muted and understated, as it unravels in a different direction, defying all expectations, choosing to focus on the developing romance, as we get a feel for Bastien’s growing interest, never veering into male gaze territory.  Parents have a peripheral role and are barely seen, while secondary characters are similarly viewed as inessential, as the entire focus is on the two kids, who apparently have free reign on what they choose to do each day, which includes partying and interacting with older kids in the area, continually exposing Bastien’s naïve vulnerability, while Chloé is more easily drawn into their world.  Nothing is ever spelled out, as things seemingly happen spontaneously, where it’s clear Bastien is often in over his head, nicknamed Houdini by the older boys due to his disappearing act, vanishing without a word, but he plays along, mostly as a passively interested observer who tries to act with confidence, yet he’s drawn into something he doesn’t really understand.  Chloé’s free and easy manner is like a siren’s song, offering a sexual allure that he can’t help but be mesmerized by, but she also disappears at the drop of a hat, only to return home late at night, often disheveled or inebriated, with Bastien, along with his five-year-old brother Titi (Thomas Laperriere), surprisingly sharing her bedroom, so she’s on his mind 24-hours per day.       

The gist of the film is an alternatingly sunny or rainy and stormy summer retreat, far away from the conventions of the world, literally inhabiting an isolated lake tucked beneath the natural surroundings of old-growth forests, mostly shot in and around Gore, Québec, which is part of the mountainous Laurentides region.  According to Chloé, the lake is haunted, suggesting it’s part of the mythology of the region, something the older kids joke about and make mocking reference to, as most ignore that kind of stuff as mere talk, never really taking it seriously.  Bastien’s connection to Chloé lures him into this superstition, as it’s something she talks about frequently, a fan of folklore and local legends, believing the ghost of a drowned child is haunting the lake.  Accordingly, the opening image feels haunted, as we’re seeing what appears to be a dead body face-down in a lake, with the movie title appearing on the screen in Gothic lettering, but then just as mysteriously the body comes alive, bursting with life and movement, challenging our expectations, yet that ominous omen sticks with viewers throughout the entire film, becoming a melancholic reflection on death, with recurring images of dead trees, making us question the façade of summer bliss.  Adapted from the graphic novel Une Soeur by Bastien Vivès, the slowly developing, symbolically charged film is moody and subtly layered, never in a hurry to get anywhere, building a sensuous mood of intoxication through aroused teenage curiosity, becoming a character study that hints at something lurking underneath, mostly told through the power of suggestion, evocative of a tone poem, perfectly capturing the haunting nature of adolescence and young love, a time of awkwardness, hope, and exploration, with hormones racing through your body, where you are left with an alienated sense of unease, as lyrical passages build to sustain a mood, The Beauty Of Falcon Lake YouTube (3:29).  While there are feelings expressed about being left alone or not belonging anywhere, with feelings of strangeness and solitude, the two have an unusual chemistry, most all of it unspoken, where there’s a coming-of-age aspect of immediate attraction, as she invites him into her bad and even shares a bath, with no signs of vulgarity, yet there are also banal moments of tedium, mostly provided by the adults, as it’s clear the wonders of teenage life exists in a parallel space with a completely different intensity level.  Much of this is shot at night, with the characters becoming nocturnal shadows alone in the dark, dreamlike reflections of our inner soul, with supernatural undertones, where the hushed music accentuates the restlessness of youth, broken down into the fleeting moments of new experiences, beautifully captured in this brief moment when two shadows merge into one, A scene from Falcon Lake (2022) YouTube (42 seconds).  This film is not built through dialogue, but in short, fragmented conversations, accentuating small, near indecipherable moments held by the camera, as emotional cues are gleaned through silences, facial expressions, and subtle glances between characters.  Despite playing the festival circuit, this film has barely been seen around the world, with next to no promotion and little fanfare, given an extremely limited release.      

At least initially, Bastien has no interest in being there, feeling more like he’s being dragged along by his parents, spending much of his time wearing headphones, an easy escape from reality.  Chloé pretty much ignores him at first, more drawn to hanging out with the older kids, but they also disappoint, feeling more like immature, sex-craved boys, where their behavior is utterly predictable, as all they care about is drinking, drugs, parties, and opportunities for sex.  Perhaps seeing a part of herself in Bastien, as he’s mostly aloof and standoffish, feeling anxiety from peer pressure, a place she often finds herself as well, routinely discovering that she never fits in, that she’s somehow different, causing her to stand apart.  But from what we can see, that’s to her credit, as these older boys are a dime a dozen with zero personality, where you can find them pretty much anywhere, so spending time with Bastien allows them both to explore undiscovered waters.  At least initially, she takes him under her wing, drinking stolen alcohol for probably the first time, and the results are what you might expect, but their rebelliousness brings them closer together, quickly establishing some trust.  She invites him to tag along at a party, using him as a safety net with older friends, which allows her to defy expectations with no repercussions.  She’s fascinated by the macabre, filling his head with ghost stories, Exclusive Clip - The Ghost of Falcon Lake YouTube (1:56), which allows them to stage a fake death, while they also play at scaring each other by disguising themselves as ghosts, wearing a simple white sheet, which becomes part of their normal routine.  None of this feels particularly spooky or foreboding, but is more in line with kid behavior.  It’s the musical soundtrack, however, and the way it is filmed that reminds us of the darker implications.  This feels like a unique way to express teenage anxieties, cloaked in an underlying interest in morbidity, where the spectral world of ghosts channels their inner thoughts.  Her mother thinks she’s only seeking attention, while a boy she likes calls her childish, suggesting she likes to embellish the truth, calling into question what she’s really like and who she really is, but Bastien is the real conveyor of teenage angst, as without Chloé, he has pretty much nobody, leaving him alone on an island, where she is his sole lifeline, while she’s able to find a circle of friends, even if she detests them much of the time, viewing her as an object of conquest rather than demonstrating any romantic inclinations.  With Bastien it’s different, as she’s calling the shots, where at least in her eyes, he’s a safe alternative to the boorish advances of the older boys.  For him, it feels like she literally fell into his lap, like an apparition consuming him day and night, and he’s uncomfortable sharing her with others, as he’d prefer to have her all for himself, but in that regard he often finds himself as the odd man out.  In the end, there’s a weird twist that may catch some offguard, like a shock to the system, with the lake bordering upon the real and the fantastic, where the power of suggestion looms large, but the artful ambiguity gets right to the heart of the matter, even as nothing is ever explained.  It’s a poetic touch that caps off a multilayered challenge to the senses, feeling like something audacious and authentic at the same time.  Winner of the Best New Director’s award at the 2022 Chicago Film Festival, “Charlotte Le Bon’s film respects the point of view of the protagonist without condescension, conveying the youthful maturity of the characters with energy and poise.  Featuring unexpected moments of humor and repose, this warm coming of age story offers keen observations about the complexity of emotions that come with adulthood.”

The Fireflies Are Gone (La Disparition des Lucioles)

Director Sébastein Pilote

Director Sébastein Pilote (left) with actress Karelle Tremblay and actor Pierre-Luc Brillant

Actress Karelle Tremblay on the set with the St. Lawrence River in the background

The director with his lead actress Karelle Tremblay

Actress Karelle Tremblay

THE FIREFLIES ARE GONE (La Disparition des Lucioles)                      B                    

Canada  (96 mi)  2018  d:  Sébastein Pilote

Dad says a bay can be looked at two ways.  One way it’s an opening on the world.  The other, it’s a dead-end.

―Léo (Karelle Tremblay)

Voted Best Canadian Feature Film at the Toronto Film Festival, “For its true-to-life depiction of a young woman’s quest to find meaning and hope in a world that has constantly disappointed her.”  Shot in Saguénay, Québec, the director’s own hometown, the film reeks with authenticity, depicting a small rural mill town set on a bay, where the closing of the mill is a constant reminder to the residents of this town of how quickly things can change and their lives can be upended, with the workers shipped up north to man distant factories for months at a time, only returning home sporadically for brief visits before being shipped off again, literally dividing and uprooting families, with little regard shown for the consequences.  The disaffection shown by the younger generation growing up is a good indicator of just how much things have changed, as Léo (short for Léonie), about to graduate from high school, feels family pressure of what lies ahead, but insists that the future is not something any young person wants to think about, ever.  Accordingly, when her family gets together at a restaurant to celebrate her 17th birthday, she defiantly slips out and meets up with her friends instead, showing little interest in her family’s fond recollections of her childhood, preferring to be out on her own.  There’s an interesting use of swelling orchestral ballet music in Philippe Brault's original score, like something out of Bernard Hermann, where Léo runs down the street and jumps on a bus much like a ballerina leaping into the awaiting arms of a man, where there’s a rush of energy as the bus pulls away, heading somewhere, anywhere.  Léo is angry at the world, at her parents, her school and the small Saguénay town where she lives.  Perhaps her biggest fear is the paralysis of standing still, sticking around in this dead-end town, which she despises, and dying a slow death of being suffocated by nothing ever happening.  She lives with a bourgeois mother she can no longer relate to (Marie-France Marcotte) and a thoroughly obnoxious stepfather she absolutely detests, Paul (François Papineau), a conservative, right-wing radio host who spews poisonous venom on the airwaves daily.  Left out of this family picture is her own father who she adores, Sylvain (Luc Picard), literally run out of town by her own stepfather, as her father was the union organizer trying to save the mill, while Paul is the loudmouth who railed against him on the airwaves, turning the entire town against him, ultimately blaming him for the shut down.  The Hamlet overtones are not lost on viewers, as all she’s left with is a ghost for a father, who’s never around, and a detestable stepfather odiously taking his place.

When the summer job she has lined up fails to materialize (working in the abbey kitchen to help feed the nuns, as the Sister that hired her unfortunately dies), she’s left with few options, forced to visit the office of a local politician who hands out summer jobs, a guy that worked with her father, where she’s forced to acknowledge, “We’re a family full of contradictions,” assigning her to the local baseball diamond, where she’s in charge of the lights for night games and maintaining the foul lines on the field.  Her first attempt placing chalk on the lines is a pathetic squiggly line that bears no resemblance to being straight, but she improves over time, allowing time to pass slowly through a musical montage of Arcade Fire, Arcade Fire presents Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains ...  YouTube (5:40).  Instead her carefree summer includes an encounter with an older guy she meets at the local diner, Steve (Pierre-Luc Brillant), a guitar instructor who’s ten years older, a kind of timeless guy, something of a loner, aimless and still living at home with his mother, basically hanging out in the basement, with little or no ambition, but so much more accepting of things than Léo, as he’s not constantly battling against the forces of an unfair world, but seems much more content with the way things are.  He offers a more laid back mindset without all the drama of the teenage dweebs she knows, so she signs up for lessons, which leads to a kind of romantic involvement with no real commitment on either side, yet there are a few sparks in the air, but neither one acts upon them, typifying the doldrums of summer.  Among their better scenes together includes a mysteriously baffling moment where Léo admires Steve, completely lost in thought, playing air drums to a Rush record, or allowing him to play an electric guitar solo performance to an empty baseball stadium under the lights, where three kids on bicycles show up to watch, but leave relatively unimpressed, or a moment in a pool room/video arcade where Steve goes off by himself to play a video game, so she plays the jukebox to get his attention, playing Tommie James and the Shondells, Crimson and Clover • Original • 1968 • Tommy James & The Shondells ... YouTube (3:26), then curls up next to him, holding his back, like riding on a motorcycle, laying her head on his shoulders, but he never once looks up or even notices, again, totally absorbed in his own little world.      

Ah, now I don't hardly know her

But I think I could love her

Crimson and clover

Ah when she comes walking over

Now I've been waitin' to show her

Crimson and clover over and over

While this has the look of a coming-of-age film, with an impulsive Léo moving from adolescence to adulthood, it may actually be more of a portrait of today’s Québec, offering a kind of cynicism that overrides all other hopes and aspirations.  The film title was taken from a Pasolini essay Disappearance of the Fireflies, Disappearance of the fireflies | Diagonal Thoughts, published in the Italian daily newspaper Corriere della Sera on February 1, 1975 in reference to the growing fascism in Italy, suggesting the light of truth was getting drowned out by the bright lights of mass entertainment and the deafening sound of political speakers adding their own toxic pollution into the air, false prophets spewing meaningless values and blatant lies into normal political discourse, creating panic and an overriding sense of fear into the comfortable middle classes which in order to protect themselves from the so-called perceived threats allows the fascism and repressive State power to come in and clean things up.  Léo’s childhood represents a state of innocence, like living in a cocoon, and as she grows out of this period she is exposed to all manner of hypocrisy and lies, none more profoundly toxic than the man who replaced her father, as he’s a false prophet riding a wave of populism, “The King of the Airwaves,” selling his views like a mattress salesman advertising an upcoming sale, planting racist values and cheap shots into the minds of his listeners, but taking no responsibility whatsoever if people are hurt by his commentary.   So as businesses are destroyed and families displaced, it paints a picture of the fleeting nature of things, where what’s most surprising is that the things that are disappearing were already forgotten by the time they disappeared, already vanished from our collective consciousness, replaced by something else that’s probably cheaper and near worthless, not even worth thinking about.  Who remembers all the things that are gone, that were once a part of our lives, having an impact on our developing character, now reduced to distant memories?  What’s most effective here is the meticulous care taken to provide such an accurate portrayal of a small mill town or factory town that has turned instead into a ghost town, as the money’s dried up and gone elsewhere, leaving a wasteland of cultural stagnation where a thriving community used to be.  As authenticity defines the film, there are no happy endings, or fanciful expectations, just a dead-end town with not just few, but literally no options.  Tremblay is a rising star in the role, spontaneous and energetic, filled with a fierce, rebellious spirit against the surrounding listlessness in a town that holds no value to her, none at all, and with every fiber in her body she wants to leave, to get out of town, hopping on that bus once again, going somewhere, anywhere, which is the only way she can keep from standing still.