Misericordia [NYFF 2024]

Studio: Sideshow/Janus Films
Director: Alain Guiraudie

Sep 29, 2024 By Kaveh Jalinous Web Exclusive

A worthy addition to the dialogue-heavy, one-note French film canon, Alain Guiraudie’s newest film, Misericordia, is a dark comedy that somehow feels perfectly satisfactory and woefully underwhelming.

Set in a small French town—so small that, not only does everyone know one another, they’re always at each other’s houses—Misericordia follows Jérémie (Félix Kysyl), a quiet, unemployed, gay ex-baker who returns for his old boss’ funeral. Out of the kindness of her heart, his boss’ wife Martine (Catherine Frot) lets Jérémie stay with her for as long as he wants, a situation which the film’s main character takes advantage of. As Jérémie stays longer in the town—reconnecting with old friends over Martini Rouge and pastis, and even considering buying the town’s closed-down bakery for himself—tensions begin to broil between Jérémie and Martine’s son Vicent (Jean-Baptiste Durand). Despite being childhood friends, Jérémie and Vincent continue to bicker until their relationship reaches the point of no return.

While there are other factors at play in the film—most notably, the reveal that Jérémie was in love with Martine’s husband/his ex-boss and can’t seem to let him go—those elements only play a small part in the film’s overarching narrative and an even smaller part in the film’s thematic resonance. Or, if they do, the narrative is so deadpan that it’s difficult to want to look beyond the film’s surface-level story for the deeper meaning behind some of Guiraudie’s choices. Instead, while being a perfectly passable experience that meanders from one plot point to another in an engaging and often hilarious way, Misericordia often feels more like the apéritif the characters are always drinking rather than a main meal. It’s quick, informal, and fun, but it always feels like it’s an introduction to something promised to come that never quite does. That feeling makes the film quite enjoyable—and even likable—when the plot is unfolding on-screen, but equally as easy to forget about and move on from.

Regardless of this broader shortcoming, Guiraudie’s experimentation with genres is worthy in itself. The film oscillates primarily between comedy, drama, and thriller, yet it never aligns itself too much towards one of those styles. Because everyone in the film is so aloof, the stakes humorously never feel that intense or nail-biting, even in situations where they definitely should be. Guiraudie also plays it slow and smart with his deployment of comedy. As the tensions build between Jérémie and Vincent, there’s a relative lack of humor, making it difficult to predict exactly what type of tone Guiraudie’s script is trying to harken. In the film’s second half, once the two’s relationship has been forever altered, Guiraudie completely loosens the reins, leaning into the absurdity of the film’s plot and allowing audiences to feel more comfortable to join in the fun. Upping the intensity of a film’s comedy is a difficult task—and can risk changing a film’s tone completely (and not for the better). Because Misericordia doesn’t belong to a specific tone—relying on a largely one-note narrative and style—it excellently avoids most of the associated pitfalls.

In many ways, Misericordia is the perfect 100-minute-ish trip to the cinema: an entertaining film that passes the time quickly and knows not to linger too long on any of its elements. It’s only after the film’s credits roll—bringing out the deeper questions with it—that that begins to become more of a concern. (www.filmlinc.org/nyff2024/films/misericordia/)

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