«Faute d’amour,» a film that speaks volumes about the ills of our time

Cinema Wednesdays - Jonas Follonier

Genia (Mariana Spivak) and Boris (Alexei Rozin) are about to get a divorce, each having embarked on a new romantic relationship. Their twelve-year-old son, Alyosha (Matvey Novikov), is fed up with their arguments and weeps silently. He is so desperately in need of love from his parents that it takes them a while to notice he has run away—or perhaps been kidnapped, who knows. His disappearance, however, will do nothing to ease the hatred the divorcing couple harbors for one another.

Lack of Love, is the film that the French-language press is currently praising almost unanimously. It must be said that this fifth feature film by Russian filmmaker Andrei Zvyagintsev won the Jury Prize at the Cannes Film Festival. What makes this film so powerful? Its realism, on the one hand, and its artistry, on the other. These two elements, when skillfully combined, give rise to a masterpiece—just think of Flaubert in the realm of literature, who managed to weave the greatest literary genius into Madame Bovary, a novel a priori difficult to read because of its inherent dullness.

A black painting of today's Russia

In the same way, Lack of Love is a difficult film to watch. Driven by constant tension, its atmosphere wears the viewer down, exasperates them, and even offends them. It is, indeed, a difficult task to witness the portrayal of a couple so representative of today’s ills. All the more so when it takes place in the capital of a Russia in the throes of turmoil. Boris, the husband, struggles to take responsibility; Genia, his wife, is a superficial person filled with hatred. Both are alike in their reckless individualism and cynicism.

The societal catastrophe in which they play bit parts is reflected in the cityscape. Gray, blackened white, bleached black. The Moscow suburbs appear as a well of sadness and gloom. The director’s vision has succeeded in capturing this everyday reality—through the colors we mentioned, and through the snow falling at the beginning and end of the film. Through this ugliness, this coldness, this harshness that we find even in the language itself. And through very subtle framing and camera movements, which contribute to his talent as a director.

The film's real target? Contemporary humanity

There is no shortage of political commentary on the country either. The militarization of the Russian state, the Ukraine issue, the lack of democracy, and the influence of Orthodoxy—all of these themes are subtly woven into the audio and visual backdrop. It’s hard, however, to label Zvyagintsev a Russophobe: the real target of his film is the contemporary human being—that small-town bumpkin glued to his cell phone, constructing a pseudo-happiness through a string of sexual escapades, raised on supermarket food, obsessed with his trivial little problems, and unworthy of raising a child.

This film creates a real sense of unease in movie theaters. It’s like a sense of shame that grips us—those of us who sometimes recognize ourselves in certain character traits denounced by the filmmaker. Does this raw criticism, however, go too far? Is the society Zvyagintsev seeks to expose too apocalyptic? Perhaps. But the lesson hits home, and it’s not a moral one. It’s a lesson in life, expressed through art that is magnificently Russian at its core. As Eric Neuhoff said on the show Le Masque et La Plume,It's a film that leaves you devastated.«

A successful bet for this drama!

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