«The middle of the horizon», at the crossroads of a lifetime

Les mercredis du cinéma - Kelly Lambiel

Today, adapting a novel for the cinema is a common occurrence. But bringing a multi-award-winning book to the screen with only one feature film under your belt is a rather ambitious undertaking. From the author to the lead actor, from the production team to the director, The middle of the horizon is an (almost) pure Swiss product which, while borrowing local color, manages to open up to current and, above all, deeply universal themes.

In 1976, a heat wave struck the Vaud countryside with full force. Along with it came a drought, followed by a storm that devastated the crops, while the heat decimated the herds and left the animals in agony. In this furnace, daily life quickly becomes grueling and tempers flare. Gus (Luc Bruchez), thirteen years old, is reluctant to do his chores. He should have spent this summer carefree—reading comic books, drawing, riding his bike, experiencing his first romances, and exploring his budding sexual curiosity. But the chickens are dying, and the ones clinging to life aren’t gaining weight. For his parents, who are farmers, ruin looms. Everything comes to a head when Cécile (Clémence Poésy) enters their lives.

A Rural Scene

In the theater, too, it feels suffocating. Admittedly, I feel a bit like an intruder among all these gray-haired faces, and I’m starting to wonder if I chose the right film for my review. But above all, it must be said that Delphine Lehericey’s aesthetic choices perfectly serve the film’s purpose. Yellowish lighting, a camera that’s sometimes a bit shaky, grain in the image, hair plastered to the scalp by sweat, and close-ups of animal carcasses half-devoured by maggots and swarming with flies all contribute to creating a heavy, unsettling atmosphere. Something is brewing; the air feels stifling. With an almost naturalistic approach, the director manages to make us forget the flaws in a screenplay that sometimes drags on. She also offers us moments of pure poetry with backlit and low-angle shots at sunset or as night falls, as well as moments of freshness and freedom when we follow Gus on his bike, hair blowing in the wind.

Beyond these formal qualities, the actors’ performances also deserve special mention; they are brought to life by a minimalist approach to dialogue that allows them to convey simplicity and authenticity. Laetitia Casta is moving in her role as a farmer’s wife torn between her desires as a woman and her role as a mother—loving her children with all her heart but unable to find fulfillment as the wife of a husband (Thibaut Evrard) who is both boorish and gentle. Luc Bruchez, from Valais, is also convincing—despite his limited experience and youth—and manages to hold his own alongside seasoned professionals.

At a Crossroads

But what I believe makes this film so powerful is, above all, its ability to draw out universal themes from the particular. Without explicitly referencing women’s empowerment, climate change, or the challenges facing the agricultural sector—which are implied throughout and naturally resonate with our current concerns—Delphine Lehericey connects with us on a more personal level. The rebellions of adolescence, the first responsibilities, the loss of childhood, and, finally, maturity. An ode to youth that brings us back to ourselves, to a past both near and far. When the lights come back on in the theater, revealing smiles and a few tears, I realize that even though the journey has been longer for them, for two hours, we were all thirteen again.

Write to the author: kelly.lambiel@leregardlibre.com

Photo credit: © Box Productions / Entre Chien et Loup / Gjorgji