----------Warning: This article may contain spoilers!
Directed by Hirokazu Kore-eda, a filmmaker who follows in the footsteps of legendary director Yasujiro Ozu with his family-themed films, the 2018 Cannes Film Festival Palme d'Or-winning drama film Shoplifters (万引き家族) is the subject of today's article. The film, with a relatively low-budget production and the slow-paced norms of arthouse cinema which are the usual characteristics of Kore-eda cinema, carries a unique trait with its significant box office success particularly influenced by Asian audiences. The film tells the story of a poor “family” living in Tokyo and challenges societal norms with its portrayal of the concept of family, especially as a work of art emerging from a highly traditional country like Japan. The family depicted is not a real one but rather an ensemble that has come together, escaping their regular individual lives! Osamu tries to make ends meet with small jobs, while his partner Nobuyo works at a laundry. The other members include the grandmother-like Hatsue, Aki, presumably in her early 20s and exhibits herself for men’s pleasure in a private club, and the young boy Shota, who is of school age but does not attend school. Due to their financial struggles, they frequently resort to theft, mostly stealing food from supermarkets.
One day, Osamu and Shota bring home a little girl named Yuri, whom they find abandoned on the balcony of an apartment building. They take her in, and as it becomes clear that Yuri has been a victim of domestic violence, they start raising her as their own child. In this new family, Yuri receives love and attention, but this arrangement is illegal, naturally. Thus, despite Yuri's disappearance being reported in the media, they hide her from the authorities. In this existing formation, Osamu stands out as a father figure struggling to keep his loved ones together. Nobuyo, as a loving mother, protects Yuri and begins to nurture her, cutting Yuri's hair and even calling her Lin. Shota forms a strong brotherly bond with Yuri, teaching her how to steal and keeping her close. Also, as the film progresses, the distinction between Shota's and Yuri's inclusion in the family becomes increasingly noticeable. It is ambiguous whether Shota was kidnapped by the main characters or abandoned by his family, but it is clear that his family did not look for him, prompting both the audience and Shota himself to question his past, unlike Yuri's clearly shown story. As the film unfolds, the characters' pasts and secrets are gradually revealed to the audience, both explicitly and through details. The death of Hatsue, Shota being caught stealing one day, the truth coming to light, and the family being dispersed by the state and its organs as they try to escape—resulting in each member being scattered in different directions (prison, state care, given back to their original families, etc.)—brings the film to the end.
In the story, everyone has distanced themselves from problematic family experiences, and as a group, they do not live under good conditions. Yet, they are so content and happy with their situation that some resort to stealing while another member, Aki, escapes from their middle-upper-class family to work as she is exposing herself to men for money. Their lives are very chaotic considering the backgrounds, but amidst that chaos, there is an extraordinary order. They are happier than most families we see around us, and this peak of happiness is evident in the famous beach scene, as also shown in most of the movie’s posters. The ultimate point is made by the grandmother Hatsue, who, feeling so lonely after the death of her beloved man, easily has opened her home to a bunch of strangers: The fact that they don't have real family-like expectations of each other and their minimal judgment dynamics might be the biggest secret to their happiness. Their relationships are based on not interfering with each other's matters but sustaining the household economy through small jobs or thefts. However, since the family is fake, it is very easy for their collapse to accelerate when they slip up, as they have come together in a manner that does not conform to societal rules and norms.
A crucial turning point occurs when the owner of the grocery store, which is frequently targeted for their thefts, notices Shota’s intention to steal from his shop once again. To prevent Shota from involving Yuri in the theft, he offers Shota some free snacks. This moment marks a significant shift, as Shota, who previously saw no harm in stealing things that didn't belong to anyone yet from the market, begins to feel uneasy when he also recently witnesses a bag being stolen by Osamu from someone's car by breaking the window. This discomfort, coupled with his questioning of how the family took him in, leads him to the realization that he doesn't want Yuri, whom he perhaps lately feels the closest bond with, to become a thief like them. He causes a commotion by toppling over some items, drawing the attention of the market staff and getting caught, which officially starts the process of the family’s rapid disintegration. When Yuri joined the group, this pragmatic bunch had genuinely started to resemble a family. The family's breakup, therefore, happens just when this resemblance and the viewers' warmest feelings towards them reach their peak. This isn’t merely a plot twist but rather a point that ties back to the film's message to underline the fragility of their formation within the current system. The concept of what constitutes a family is questioned the whole time, and the closest they come to resembling a real one is also the moment when everything turns upside down.
After that, what follows is essentially a different film. The interrogation scenes, particularly the conversations between Nobuyo and the police about motherhood, are particularly impactful. The characters gradually drift apart, creating a feeling that is difficult to get used to for the audience. However, this discomfort proves the director’s success in conveying his intended message and sincerely challenges the viewer to think seriously over the film’s unconventional argument. The distinctive quality of the film and the reason why it was so highly praised by critics worldwide stems from that, in my opinion. At the end of the film, Shota separates from Osamu (with Osamu admitting that they had planned to leave Shota behind while escaping before he was caught by the police, acknowledging that he can no longer be a father to him) and gets on a bus. As he silently whispers "dad" after Osamu, it both hints at an open-ended conclusion, and most importantly, affirms the director’s ultimate judgment on the matter.
Well, in a film where the characters are so prominently featured, it’s essential to briefly mention the performances. The maximum success achieved with child actors, given the freedom in acting they were allowed, as Kore-eda prefers, is evident here as well. In the lead role, Lily Franky, one of the director’s favorite actors, delivers his usual standout performance. Another notable performance comes from Kirin Kiki, another favorite of the director, in what was their last collaboration before her passing not long after the film's release.
With films like Like Father, Like Son (そして父になる) and Our Little Sister (海街diary), the director began exploring what constitutes a blood tie, what defines a family, how sustainable these relationships are and "Shoplifters" is perhaps his most serious examination of these themes. While the surface narrative is influenced by increasing theft cases in the country, the film's primary focus, inherently a crime, critiques societal judgment through both social norms and official laws. As the director's calm dismantling of taboos showcases his humanist mindset, this socially conscious masterpiece can be summarized as a silent scream, highlighting that societal norms might not always be a guarantee of what is good and right. By contrasting radical outlaw examples, the film effectively conveys its message for sure. Each member of the well-designed ensemble by the director is morally ambiguous, especially with the main couple having committed a crime of passion. However, almost everyone outside the family they form is actually portrayed as bad, which further aids in conveying that message. Despite the story of this group forming a family being quite unrealistic, the aesthetic touches in the narrative make this situation feel extremely natural and even realistic to the viewer. The film is both filled with meticulously placed details and countless secrets, beautifully woven into the story with a delicate script, and yet it is simple and straightforward. This duality makes it special, appealing to all kinds of audiences, and this is likely the key to its box office success.
Mert Konuk
June 2026
----------Warning: This article may contain spoilers!
Bong Joon-ho has long been a beloved director in cinephile circles, especially among those who follow contemporary South Korean cinema. Known for his deep admiration of Martin Scorsese, Bong has made a name for himself in the industry with works like Memories of Murder (살인의 추억), The Host (괴물), Mother (마더), Snowpiercer, and Okja. The success of his films have not only established his reputation but also caught the attention of the American cinema intelligentsia, notably through frequent mentions by Quentin Tarantino. However, as South Korean cinema manages to combine festival acclaim and box office success more than any other country, there is one film that stands out, dominating both film festivals and the box office while leaving an indelible mark on the general audience: Parasite (기생충), became the first International Feature Film and the first non-English language film overall to win The Academy Award for Best Picture, in addition to winning the Palme d’Or and many other accolades. Although it may not be my personal favorite of Bong’s films (my favorite being "Mother," and for many critics, "Memories of Murder" which also is understandable), it is undeniably successful, impactful, and worthy of discussion. Therefore, today’s review focuses on this 2019 addition to Bong Joon-ho’s filmography, who, along with directors like Park Chan-wook, Lee Chang-dong, Na Hong-jin, and Kim Ki-duk, has elevated South Korean cinema. The film stars some of South Korea’s well-known actors, including Song Kang-ho, Lee Sun-kyun, Cho Yeo-jeong, Choi Woo-shik, and Park So-dam. This tragicomedy thriller delves deep into the story of a poor family infiltrating the life of a wealthy family, exploring social class differences and their impact on human relationships.
The film begins with the Kim family, who live in one of the poor neighborhoods of Seoul. Kim Ki-taek (Song Kang-ho), his wife Chung-sook (Jang Hye-jin), their son Ki-woo (Choi Woo-shik), and their daughter Ki-jung (Park So-dam) reside in a basement apartment under dire conditions. They struggle to find spots in their home to catch a neighbor’s Wi-Fi signal and even leave their windows open during neighborhood fumigations to benefit from the free pest control, despite its known toxicity. The family scrapes by doing low-paying jobs. One day, Ki-woo's friend Min-hyuk suggests that he take over his tutoring job for the daughter of the wealthy Park family, Da-hye, setting off a chain of events that will change the Kim family’s lives forever (but not as they desire).
Ki-woo forges a university diploma and secures a job as Da-hye’s English tutor at the Park family’s house, even starting developing a romantic connection with her, at least from her perspective. The Park family leads a life of wealth and prestige, living in a large, modern home with in addition to Da-hye, father Park Dong-ik, mother Choi Yeon-gyo, young son Da-song, and their housekeeper Moon-gwang. Seeing an opportunity, Ki-woo decides to get his family members jobs at the Park residence. First, his sister Ki-jung is hired as an art therapist for Da-song under a fake identity and credentials. Next, the Kims frame the Park family’s driver, Yoon, leading to his dismissal, and Ki-taek, Ki-woo’s father, takes over as the new driver. Finally, they discover Moon-gwang’s severe allergy and exploit it to get her fired, replacing her with their mother, Chung-sook, as the new housekeeper. Everything seems to be going smoothly for the Kim family, but will it continue that way?
One day, while the Park family is away on vacation, the Kim family begins to indulge in the luxurious lifestyle of the Park residence. However, their enjoyment is interrupted when Moon-gwang returns and reveals that her husband, Oh Geun-sae, has been secretly living in the hidden basement for years to evade his creditors. This shocking discovery leads to a violent confrontation between the Kim family and Moon-gwang and her husband. Meanwhile, the Park family unexpectedly returns home. The Kim family narrowly avoids being caught by hiding or fleeing at the right moments, but they are left with the realization and despair that even if their plans succeed, the results may not be sustainable in the long run.
Not long after these events, a birthday party is organized for Da-song, and the people who work for the Park family, including the Kim family, are invited. During the party, Geun-sae, whom Ki-woo intended to kill to solidify his status as the Park family’s successor through his relationship (!) with Da-hye (in fact, at the beginning of the story, his friend had suggested the tutoring job out of affection for her and a desire to make someone reliable keep an eye on her, but you can guess what happened later), escapes from the basement, causing a chaotic uproar. Many characters end up injured or dead, but most significantly, Ki-taek reaches his breaking point when Park Dong-ik displays another act of condescension towards his social class, leading him to kill Mr. Park. Ki-woo wakes up in the hospital after brain surgery and learns that both he and his mother have been convicted of fraud and put on probation. He discovers that his sister has died and his father has disappeared. Observing the Park family's former house, now owned by strangers, Ki-woo notices a Morse code message blinking from the basement. This message is from his father, who is hiding there and hoping Ki-woo will see it. Still living in the same basement apartment with his mother, Ki-woo writes a letter to his father, vowing to earn enough money to buy the house and free him. The film ends with Ki-woo’s hopeful yet extremely fantastical plan to reunite with his father, leaving the audience to ponder the possibility of this dream ever becoming a reality.
Although the film is rich with symbols, its narrative is not overly complex, allowing even an average viewer to feel intellectually engaged. Thus, this clarity is why I've provided a more detailed summary. Despite the occasional coincidences that serve the predictable flow of the story, there are key points worth highlighting. Income inequality and class conflict are central themes, but they are explored through a unique lens involving three distinct social classes: the elites, those just above point zero, and those far below it. This multi-layered approach culminates in the chaotic bloodbath of the film’s finale, which brilliantly underscores the complexity and near-impossibility of resolving these issues in reality. The film also adeptly navigates intra- and inter-class relationships and conflicts, maintaining a high tempo throughout its over two-hour runtime. This fast pace contributes to its extraordinary engagement, keeping the audience captivated and deeply involved in its cinematic universe.
One point of criticism about the film is the portrayal of its characters in extreme terms to highlight the conflicts between social classes. The wealthy are depicted as unbelievably foolish, arrogant, and incompetent, while the poor are shown as incredibly crude, destitute, and greedy. However, in terms of symbols and motifs, the film presents a nuanced message pattern that appeals to both the conscious and subconscious mind through simple yet thoughtful touches. One of the most obvious symbolic elements is the title of the film. The question of who the true parasites are—whether it’s the Kim family, a social class, the two families trying to maintain their presence in the house, or how the rich view the poor—is open to interpretation. The film progresses in a cyclical manner, with everyone fitting the term "parasite" at different points. Director Bong Joon-ho explains: "Because the story is about the poor family infiltrating and creeping into the rich house, it seems very obvious that Parasite refers to the poor family, and I think that's why the marketing team was a little hesitant. But if you look at it the other way, you can say that the rich family, they're also parasites in terms of labor. They can't even wash dishes, they can't drive themselves, so they leech off the poor family's labor. So both are parasites."
Another notable critical symbol in the film is the smell issue, which represents class divisions and social barriers. This motif first emerges when the Park family's young son, Da-song, notices a similarity in the scent of the Kim family members who have infiltrated their household. As the film progresses, the theme of smell becomes more pronounced. In one particular scene in the Park family's living room, Mr. Park expresses disgust, thinking that Mr. Kim's (Ki-taek) scent has permeated the house (though Ki-taek is actually hiding in the room at that moment). He mentions to his wife that it is an unremovable odor, a smell carried by people with lower-class habits. This conversation, overheard by the Kim family, deeply wounds and humiliates them, especially Ki-taek. The issue of smell reaches its climax during Da-song's birthday party. When Mr. Park recoils from the smell of Geun-sae (Moon-gwang's husband) while retrieving his car keys next to Geun-sae's dying body, Mr. Kim perceives this as the final insult. Unable to endure the indignity any longer, he kills Mr. Park. Thus, we see how the theme of smell significantly influences the story's trajectory.
Similarly, the scholar’s stone is another significant symbol in the film and its narrative. Initially given to Ki-woo as a gift with hopes of financial prosperity, the stone represents a false illusion of wealth, playing a key role in major actions that symbolize both the temporary realization of this dream and the subsequent downfall, illustrating the inability to escape their situation. Lastly, the theme of elevation and height is worth mentioning. The Park family lives high up, while the Kim family resides in a basement so low that it receives hardly any natural light. This contrast is further highlighted when the Parks are shown walking down a high street during the rainstorm to reach their home, while the Kims must descend even further. Even the fact that the highest point in their home is the toilet, which some interpret as a metaphor, emphasizes the futility of social mobility and suggests that the highest they can aspire to is still “crappy.”
But I was especially impressed with the film's conclusion. When the Kim family's home floods due to the rainstorm and they spend the night in a school gym, Ki-taek tells his children, “That’s why you should never plan. If you don’t have a plan, you can’t fail.” However, at the end of the story, Ki-woo learns Morse code, discovers that his father is alive, receives his message, and even dreams of rescuing him, outlining a potential plan. Though the director visually presents a glimmer of hope, he subtly implies the likely outcome, reinforcing the notion that social mobility cannot be achieved through simple, obvious formulas. Overall, I believe the film's purpose is to show that despite capitalism's seemingly democratized distribution of resources, class differences remain (and will remain) unchanged. Moreover, in most films, we primarily see one class (and sometimes two), with conflicts buried in subtext. In this universal work, the conflict itself takes center stage, chaotic and unromanticized by a happy ending, which I think significantly contributes to the film's success.
Mert Konuk
December 2025
----------Warning: This article may contain spoilers!
Directed by Julia Ducournau, Titane is a 2021 French-Belgian film starring Agathe Rousselle and Vincent Lindon (whose performance is particularly powerful). Ducournau made history with this film, becoming the second female director to win the Palme d'Or at the Cannes Film Festival, nearly thirty years after Jane Campion.
The film centers on Alexia, a woman with a titanium plate in her head due to a childhood car accident. As an adult, she works as a showgirl at motor shows, exhibiting an intimate connection to cars, even becoming pregnant by one as the film suggests that her unusual bond with cars stems from that titanium plate in her head. "Titane" presents a surreal, but tries to have a realistic narrative, rooted in vivid imagery that can be interpreted as mechanical personality disorder and body dysmorphia within the film's universe but seems as only valid for the protagonist. Accepting this unconventional premise is crucial for fully appreciating the film.
Early on, Alexia is revealed to be a serial killer who brutally murders those who cross her path. When one of her killings attracts intense scrutiny from the authorities, she realizes she must flee to avoid capture. In a desperate attempt to escape, Alexia radically alters her appearance, breaking her nose, cutting her hair, shaving her eyebrows, and binding her chest tightly to pass as a boy. She tries to impersonate the identity of Adrien, a boy who went missing years ago, and is taken in by his father, Vincent, a fire captain. Vincent is a deeply troubled man, struggling with body dysmorphia presumably due to the presence of younger and fitter subordinates, leading to steroid addiction. His family also has fallen apart, and he clings to the hope that his son has returned, thus, despite obvious inconsistencies, Vincent accepts Alexia as Adrien. As the film progresses, these inconsistencies become more apparent, yet Vincent lives in denial, clinging to the belief that his son has returned. The relationship between Alexia and Vincent develops, with Alexia eventually embracing her new identity. As suspicions about Alexia arise and more people begin to realize she is not Adrien, the film sharply pivots away from the mystery and focuses entirely on their character development and relationship. Vincent openly states that he does not care about the inconsistencies, and no further development or any continuum on the crime investigation is shown.
In the climax, Alexia displays a sexual interest in Vincent but also reaches the final stages of her pregnancy. She even reveals her real name to Vincent, who helps her during childbirth. Tragically, Alexia dies during the birth, her titanium skull splitting open in her final moments. The film concludes with Vincent holding Alexia's baby, who has a titanium spine, might suggest that he will not be alone despite Alexia's death.
Titane blends body horror, crime thriller, and psychological drama, presenting its value proposition through extremes. On one side, there's a woman with a body containing metal who develops an attraction to cars and becomes hostile towards humans; on the other, a man who blinds himself to reality due to his traumas, abandoning his logic and even pride. The film initially gives the impression it will revolve around serial murders possibly stemming from a traumatic childhood, but it abruptly changes course, taking an unexpected turn. The drastic shift in the narrative is as extreme as the plot itself, making the film at the beginning vastly different from the one at the end, like night and day. At first, viewers might think the film will maintain a high tempo or even turn into violence porn, but as mentioned, the story evolves completely differently.
Overall, I didn't particularly enjoy the film a lot and despite the high PR, it felt underwhelming. The film heavily relies on extreme visuals too for conveying its message and sometimes seems to manipulate the emotions (or fill the gaps in the medium) with its use of music. The editing is tailored to advance the story in a specific direction, and while the universe might be considered quite fantastical, it doesn't consistently hold up realistically within its own logic, leaving some disjointedness and questions in the viewers' minds.
Mert Konuk
April 2025
---------- This review may contain spoilers!
In this article, I will delve into Triangle of Sadness, a film by Ruben Östlund, a Swedish director I greatly admire. Following his well-known works The Square (which also won the Palme d’Or in 2017) and Force Majeure, this film further established Östlund's reputation by claiming the Palme d’Or in 2022. At the 95th Academy Awards, the film had three nominations and has also been recognized with nominations and awards at various other European and International festivals, thus extending the director's acclaim beyond the continent. Triangle of Sadness is a vigorous dark comedy and an unapologetic satire that challenges boundaries. Featuring an ensemble cast led by Harris Dickinson, Charlbi Dean (in her final film role as she passed away after the movie), Dolly de Leon, Zlatko Burić, Iris Berben, Vicki Berlin, and Woody Harrelson, the film is segmented into three parts, making it relatively easier to watch and to analyze. In it, Östlund targets not only the apparently wealthy but also scrutinizes the entirety of society and its underlying systems. Due to its layered, profound, and finely crafted narrative, I will continue my review by discussing and summarizing the film in segments similar to the director.
In the first part of Triangle of Sadness, the film focuses on the backgrounds and relationship dynamics of the leading couple, Carl and Yaya. The movie begins with a peculiar fashion shoot involving Carl and other male models. This scene metaphorically contrasts the general public, depicted in the joyful but non-unique style of H&M, against the affluent, who are portrayed as serious, cool, and enviable, akin to Balenciaga. This gives the film an underlying, quick-paced start. We then learn more about Yaya, who is more famous than Carl and engaged in more glamorous works. Unlike her boyfriend, Yaya's popularity on Instagram is not only higher but also on the rise.
Following these introductory scenes, we observe the couple at dinner, which leads to a prolonged and impactful debate over who should pay the bill. This scenario paints Yaya as aiming to be a trophy wife, presenting their relationship as one beneficial for her popularity and her Instagram page, where Carl is essentially her photographer and accessory (!). The dialogue and approach suggest that if Carl cannot reach a certain level of prosperity, the benefits Yaya gains from the relationship may not be enough for her to continue it. Carl, feeling dominated and tired of the clichés in male-female relationships, expresses his exhaustion with always being the one to pay, though he still hopes that Yaya will eventually fall in love with him. Here, the film doesn't show much romance in their relationship; rather, it appears more like an intimate business partnership. This dynamic effectively lays bare a modern type of relationship, where Yaya expects Carl to pay for expensive meals under the guise of equality, satirizing gender roles in a manner that entertains the audience. Additionally, the film critiques the era of social media in first two parts, subtly touching on topics like influencers who post about eating pasta despite claiming to have gluten intolerance, as exemplified by Yaya's character.
The second part of the film unfolds aboard a superyacht, where Carl and Yaya are invited to a luxury cruise in exchange for Yaya's promotion on social media. As expected, this arrangement exacerbates the tension between Carl and Yaya. Carl, benefiting from all the services for free thanks to his girlfriend and only having to do "less than part-time Instagram photography" in return, but still, finds himself in a powerless position as Yaya holds the reins of power. Related to that, a situation arises where a male crew member, who sunbathes shirtless beside them, is inadvertently dismissed due to Carl's complaint to his superior because he started feeling jealous as Yaya even innocently finds him attractive.
However, unlike the first part, this part of the film actually digs into the topics further away from the relationship. Additionally, a bulk of dominant and caricatured side characters, many of whom are wealthy and powerful, joins the picture. Their dialogues and actions are exaggerated yet believably absurd, showcasing meticulous character design and satirical observational skill. Some of the characters introduced in this part include: the wealthy self-proclaimed "shit-seller” capitalist oligarch Dimitry, along with his wife Vera and mistress Ludmilla; the rich elderly couple Clementine and Winston, who have amassed wealth through products they claim bring democracy to third-world countries (grenades, mines, etc.); the lonely tech billionaire Jarmo; the paralyzed Therese who can only utter a single phrase and is confined to a wheelchair; and the socialist captain Thomas Smith who neglects his duties and prefers to stay drunk in his cabin. This part of the film not only expands the narrative beyond the central relationship but also serves as a canvas for Östlund's sharp social commentary, portraying a satirical reflection of the absurdities and inequalities within contemporary society.
The third part begins on a deserted island where the survivors of the yacht sinking have arrived with a lifeboat and limited supplies. The critical twist here is the complete reversal of hierarchies and class distinctions. Abigail, a middle-aged cleaner who likely immigrated and was at the bottom of the hierarchy on the yacht, becomes the leader on the island and turns the hierarchy upside down. She possesses essential survival skills, such as making fire and fishing, which she uses to gain and enforce power, even reducing Carl to a sort of sex toy in exchange for food. Abigail reaches a point where she, who was once overlooked as a cleaner on the yacht, now commands from the lifeboat, her new "base of operations," and even expels others including Carl's girlfriend Yaya. Survival instincts also drive Jarno to brutally kill a wild donkey by smashing it with a rock, an act that is met with great cheer by many in the group. This segment brilliantly illustrates how power and hierarchy are contingent on time, circumstance, and the skills that are valued in those circumstances. It also explores the human nature of those in power, showcasing how they are prone to maximize and possibly corrupt their control, portrayed in a less caricatured and more serious, even darker tone compared to the second part. Additionally, Yaya, who previously held power over Carl in the earlier parts of the film, becomes jealous as she watches her boyfriend come under Abigail's protection, struggle to adapt, and grow increasingly attentive towards Abigail. This twist adds a layer of personal conflict and emotional complexity to the narrative, highlighting the dynamic shifts in relationships and power structures in extreme situations.
One day, while Abigail and Yaya are exploring the island, they make a surprising discovery that the island isn't deserted at all; in fact, it even houses a holiday resort. This revelation implies a return to normal life, signaling the end of Abigail's reign as the leader. Realizing they are saved, Yaya relaxes on the beach and offers Abigail a position as her assistant back in civilization, promising her a better life. However, simultaneously, Abigail considers killing Yaya by hitting her with a rock, echoing the earlier violent act against the donkey. At this moment, Carl, who has been following them, is seen running towards them frantically as the film draws to a close. The ending is left ambiguous: either Yaya convinces Abigail and Carl rushes to inform others that the island is not isolated, or Abigail has already killed Yaya, as hinted by the donkey metaphor earlier in the film, and Carl is running to let the murder known by the others. Both scenarios are seamlessly integrated into the film’s narrative, ensuring the ending doesn’t feel out of place or forced. This unresolved conclusion adds a layer of suspense and invites viewers to ponder the true nature of human behavior under dire circumstances.
This film stands out as a vibrant and humorous exploration of money and social class, effectively using the most engaging and comedic medium to present this critique of contemporary society. The director’s ability to create scenes rich with social commentary from even the simplest conversations is remarkable, making the film thought-provoking while still entertaining. From the first to the last second, the film maintains this dynamic without sacrificing technical quality. Every detail in the movie is meticulously crafted, emphasizing that nothing occurs without a purpose. Even in its absurdity, there's always a message or a nod to specific targets. The principle of equality is also prominently featured. Although the film primarily critiques the upper social classes, it equally addresses the struggles of lower social classes and those in vulnerable positions, like Abigail and Carl, spreading its message across the societal spectrum. This approach not only adds realism to the film but also shows a commendable dedication to reflecting genuine societal dynamics.
Comparing this work of the director to their previous well-known films, such as The Square and Force Majeure, some viewers find it challenging to place it within a quality spectrum, thus, even if you have seen the other films (like I have), assessing this one independently could offer a clearer view of its value. However, if comparisons are to be drawn, the satire in this movie is far more accessible and digestible to a broader audience than in the earlier mentioned films. While this accessibility could be perceived as simplicity, it is a deliberate choice by the director, which I find commendable and aligned with the film’s objectives.
Mert Konuk
January 2025
---------- This review may contain spoilers!
Directed by Justine Triet, one of the rising stars in post-2010s French and European cinema, who co-wrote the screenplay with Arthur Harari, Anatomy of a Fall (Anatomie d'une chute) tackles the mystery of whether a case is one of suicide or murder. Along with that incident and aftermath, the movie focuses on the relationship dynamics between the deceased Samuel, his wife Sandra (a German writer and the primary suspect), and their 11-year-old visually impaired child, Daniel. Additionally, it subtly addresses numerous sub-themes that lend themselves to social criticism.
The movie, it can be said, starts off in a traditional manner and also somewhat slowly. Although the incident and the start of the investigation—the heart of the plot—occur early on and the story builds on this, deepening through ambiguity until the end, the movie risks losing the audience's focus with its unadorned and calm approach. However, the subsequent deepening process, particularly through the investigation and court scenes in order to understand prime suspect Sandra's past, alibi, character and relationships in general, is remarkable. Here, lies the part that internalizes social issues: xenophobia, sexism, prejudice, injustice, etc. There, these themes are presented to us, and the motivations of the characters, as well as the history of their relationships, are laid out for examination from this point onwards.
The peak, and what I assume warranted its Palme d'Or, is the part right before the final resolution, the real climax which also sets the stage for the ultimate unraveling. This is where the uncensored backstory of the married protagonists' relationship is revealed as the movie shows us that the fall referred in the title is not the incident that is investigated but actually the state of the marriage. Until here, Sandra already falls into a really difficult situation especially after what the late Samuel told his psychiatrist about her, and the disclosure of the audio-recorded fight with Sandra in court both complicates the situation and opens a way in which Daniel has to be the decision influencer. Topics such as guilt stemming from their child's blindness, infidelity due to sexual distance, and the impact of disparities in the couple's successes on their relationship are explored in a thought-provoking manner. Thus, this part declares to us that while the main mystery may still indeed need to be solved, it is actually not the focal point.
Another critical point is the parent-child relationship that directly influences the story more through causality than depth, with the healthiness of that not reflected on screen but inferred, and the child character whose relationships we actually anticipate solely based on events within the story. Representing logic and instinct in the story, Daniel plays a decisive role (with contributions from his dog and the spectator assigned to accompany him during the trial) in how the story concludes, particularly highlighting the reality that a child's need for his parents during the development stage can transcend the right and wrong.
I genuinely believe the story could not have had a more flawless conclusion. It's neither clear nor unclear, meaning it's refined and skillful enough to leave the audience neither feeling abandoned nor too neatly and subjectively satisfied with the outcome they might have wished for. Despite some minor flaws, the movie is generally very successful, fitting well within modern cinema and deserves many of its awards and nominations. The performances, especially, are memorable, with Sandra Hüller delivering a performance that is worth discussing throughout, notably in the bilingual (English and French) court scenes. However, at times, the scenario seems a bit too formulaic, as if tailored for award success, which could be a point of criticism regarding the sincerity of the storytelling and screenplay. In summary, while not revolutionary enough to shake the foundations of the viewer's mindset or the historical evolution of its genre, it is a thought-provoking work and also quite a gripping one.
Mert Konuk
January 2025