what does it mean to build something that will outlive you when you yourself feel impermanent, a ghost drifting through the wreckage of a past that still clings to your skin? what does it mean to create when every act of creation is also an act of mourning?
The Brutalist is not the film to answer these questions. it gestures at them, decorates itself with their weight, but never truly engages with them. it desperately wants to be something, aching…
Au Revoir les Enfants breathes in its silences: the impersonal coldness of the school halls, the way war hums beneath the surface like a distant murmur. at the same time, in its devotion to subtlety, it recoils just when it should press deeper. julien and jeans relationship remains a sketch, its edges blurred, as if Malle is afraid of looking too closely, of breaking the fragile stillness he constructs. maybe restraint is both the films strength and its weakness.
some films fade when you leave them. this one lingers. and long after its over you’ll find yourself humming that preachers tune, wondering if love or hate has the stronger grip.
