Cate Crafter

La Haine follows three young men in the banlieues (suburbs) of Paris for almost 24 hours as they navigate the aftermath of a riot wherein a friend has been shot. Directed by Matthew Kassovitz and starring Vincent Cassel, Hubert Koundé and Saïd Taghmaoui, this hard-hitting French film from 1995 still feels just as relevant in 2021. How is that possible?!

Presented in a stark but beautiful monochrome palette, La Haine holds nothing back. The narrative explores a wealth of topics including race, masculinity, police brutality, poverty, the aimlessness of youth and societal expectations. In most cases, this would be too much material to cover coherently in a film; however, the simplicity of the 24h timeline makes it possible.

« C'est l'histoire d'un homme qui tombe d'un immeuble de 50 étages. Le mec, au fur et à mesure de sa chute, il se répète sans cesse pour se rassurer: Jusqu'ici tout va bien. Jusqu'ici tout va bien. Jusqu'ici tout va bien. Mais l'important, c'est pas la chute, c'est l'atterrissage. »

“Heard about the guy who fell off a skyscraper? On his way down past each floor, he kept saying to reassure himself: So far so good... so far so good... so far so good. How you fall doesn't matter. It's how you land!”

The story of the falling man is repeated throughout the film. This is an obvious metaphor for the three central characters and society as a whole (which Cassel’s character notes later on). It’s also interesting that graffiti and billboards have ironic messages throughout the film such as ‘L'avenir c'est nous’ (We are the future) and ‘Le Monde est à vous’ (The world is yours) which Saïd changes to ‘Le Monde est à nous’ (The World is ours). Escaping the poverty of the banlieues is impossible for these young men because society doesn’t allow them the chance to better themselves.

Another motif that drives the plot, perhaps just as much as the falling man story is the gun. Vinz carries the police revolver for most of the film, its always present but hidden from sight. Another metaphor, but for violence this time. It’s also a device that builds tension and is a literal use of the narrative technique Chekov’s Gun. “If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter it absolutely must go off. If it’s not going to be fired, it shouldn’t be hanging there.“ (Chekov, 1911). We are anxious throughout the film because we know that this gun will be used, but up until the very last moment of the film, we don’t know how or when!

« Je me sens comme une petite fourmi perdue dans un univers intergalactique »

“I feel like a little ant lost in an intergalactic universe.”

Normally films become less and less relevant as the year’s pass, or they become offensive because of how backwards their representations were (Hello, Mickey Rooney as Mr Yunioshi in Breakfast at Tiffany’s and Laurence Olivier in blackface as Othello!). Unfortunately, La Haine is feeling more and more relevant, especially in the last year with the Black Lives Matter marches around the world.

Directed by Jessica Hausner Little Joe is an indie sci-fi horror that explores genetic modification and motherhood. Emily Beecham stars as Alice Woodard, a plant breeder who has created a new species that gives its owners intense joy…but at what price?

Narratively Little Joe is interesting, there is a clear exploration of deep themes: the mood altering effects of pharmaceuticals, the trials of motherhood and the bastardization of nature through genetic modification just to name a few. But, I would be inclined to say that what really makes this film quite special is the symbolism displayed through visuals and audio.

The colour design of this film is one of its most striking features. The lab and uniforms are a pale montone green which are directly juxtaposed with the vibrant red plumage of the Little Joe plant. This use of complementary colours creates a sort of visual symbiosis between the scientists and the plants, but as the film progresses it is clear that this visual harmony is indeed superficial and something far more nefarious is at work. Elsewhere, the colour design sticks to a closer palette of greens, oranges and yellows or the intense mixing of purple and red, the former displaying order and familiarity and the letter another expression of danger.

The camera moves very methodically to create a sense of control and sterileness which soon becomes creepy as it is too perfect. Moreover, this precision of the camera movement also acts as a parallel to what is happening within the lab, the modification of nature has morphed the characters into automatons, they become focused on one singular goal the propagation of the plant as it can’t reproduce on its own.

Another way in which Little Joe creates unease is through its erratic soundtrack. There is an eerie exoticness to the sounds and irregular rhythms which no doubt was used to mirror the strangeness of the plant. And while it can become a little distracting at times for the most part this soundtrack added a curious texture to the film and enhanced the mood.

Overall, Little Joe is a peculiar little film that will leave you reeling long after the credits, it’s full of beautiful visuals, uncanny commentaries on society and a really fantastic central performance by Emily Beecham who quite rightly won the Best Actress Award at Cannes last year.