At the beginning of the month, when I wanted to take stock of the works that excited me in 2023, I noticed that I had fewer crushing favorites this year. I won’t list the books that fell from my hands and the TV series that I found a little sloppy, quickly done and bland, but let’s say that I often got lost in the moon between the boxes of the last Asterixin my eyes too modeled on The soothsayer, less funny. That I found The Desert Star, the last Connelly (even though my favorite thriller author), a little soft, not tense enough. Yes, it’s good The Bear, but hey, the scenario is not earth-shattering. We can guess what’s coming.
At one point, I wondered if it could be the fatigue of a busy autumn that made me less receptive… Until two works knocked me away, in the theater and in the cinema.
First, several people around me advised me to see Anatomy of a fall by Justine Triet, Palme d’Or at Cannes. So I dragged my fiancé and my teenager who wants to become an editor and director into the small, comfortable and cozy room on the second floor of the Beaubien cinema. A German writer and her husband live in the Alps with their almost blind 11-year-old son and their dog. One day, the husband is found dead. Accident, suicide or homicide? An investigation is open, a trial will take place. Where is the truth ? Can we trace it in fiction? Who to believe? Perspectives add up and blind spots become clearer.
The actors – whom I did not know – are very accurate, including the young Milo Machado Graner, who plays the son, and the German Sandra Hüller, fascinating. The face of the lawyer (Swann Arland) is magnetically beautiful. This highly intelligent film captivated all three of us from start to finish. Not for a second did I pick up. The last feature film to have satisfied me in this way, both in terms of form and substance, is Portrait of the girl on fire by Céline Sciamma. Go there during the holidays, give yourself this gift. You will not regret it.
The second work to have monopolized me with this intensity in recent weeks is the piece Never wipe away tears without gloves, in Véronique Côté’s fine and brilliant adaptation of the novel by Swede Jonas Gardell. A Trident production, seen at the Jean-Duceppe Theater. Again, exceptional actors, not stars.
In the festive and liberated Stockholm of the 1980s, young gays bond and then support each other through the discovery and acceptance of their identity. But evil strikes and puts an end to the party. AIDS comes like rain that becomes a downpour, then a torrent, and decimates friendships. Yes it’s hard, there was a lot of emotion in the room, tears and sighs and I gave the biggest hug in the world to my friend Billy at intermission.
But why was I so galvanized? Was that insensitive of me? Why did such a dark story turn out to be so bright at the same time? Despite its devastating subject and the revolting injustices recounted there, why did this play do me so much good? I asked myself during intermission. Was it thanks to the music, a pianist and a string trio who, on stage, punctuated the chapters of the drama with subtle elegance, a bit like the musicians on board the Titanic ? Because of the humor and solidarity that percolates through the darkness? Was it the flamboyant performance of Maxime Robin, who plays the charismatic Paul?
I thought about it a lot. These works were created by artists in full possession of their means, at the top of their art, who knew how to surround themselves with the right people and not deviate from their vision. There is in Never wipe And Anatomy of a fall something ardent, controlled and upright. Not watered down. We can guess the hours, the rigor and the care that were invested in it.
For the coming year, I wish us more works of this caliber and quality. Novels, films, theater, poems, songs and exhibitions that will make us forget our damn phones. Creations that will captivate us, electrify us, haunt us and perhaps even change us. Yes, that’s what I wish us in 2024: even more wonder.