Her name is Luma. She is a dairy cow. When we meet him at the beginning of the documentary cow, she is in full birth. However, as soon as her calf comes into the world, it is taken away from her: Luma’s milk will be for us, and not for her baby. Hearing later the plaintive moans of Luma, who stares at the enclosure where we keep her newborn, we have a heavy heart. For its part, the calf is obviously looking for its mother. That is to say, from the outset, filmmaker Andrea Arnold elicits a visceral emotional response.
However, her film abstains from any comment or criticism in relation to the dairy industry or the work of the farmers who welcomed her with her reduced team for a year. No pamphleteering, therefore. Nevertheless… The images selected during editing (with exemplary fluidity) are powerful. They talk.
They tell the story of Luma, a seemingly banal and repetitive story, but which turns out to be as captivating as it is poignant when the phenomena of empathy and identification begin to work – that is to say from the beginning. Identification, yes, because it doesn’t take long to discern all sorts of metaphors under the farming surface…
In an interview last week, Andrea Arnold explained about this: “During the filming, I was obsessed with fences and removable barriers: we shoot here, and it’s the veterinarian, we shoot there, and it’s the slaughterhouse… Many viewers have also told me that they saw in the film an echo of the issue of control over the woman’s body, the loss of control. »
In the cinephile’s eye, the bovine condition gradually moves into the human condition.
Toughness and Grace
This is the first feature-length documentary by the very, very talented English director, to whom we owe, among other fictions, the superb Red Road, fishtank and Wuthering Heights (The Wuthering Heights). cow displays the same mix of visual harshness and grace. Life in the barn is filmed without affectation, but the shots, however moving or nervous, reflect as much a sense of the frame as an understanding of the narrative power of the composition.
This becomes even more true when, in the spring, we accompany Luma outside, in meadows often filmed at the magic hour. Beneath a pastel firmament dotted with scattered stars, Luma tastes something like respite. Here, as in her previous films, the filmmaker sprinkles the ambient harshness with touches of poetry.
But, but… Having come back earlier, the Canada geese are setting off again and disappearing into gray skies again. Brought back to the barn, Luma will again give birth to a calf that will be taken away from her, in a terrible and so on. And the heart to return to the vice.
“What I experienced in this project is profound, confided Andrea Arnold. The way Luma received us changed, evolved during filming. At first she was more wary and wary, then gradually I really got the sense that she felt seen by us. […] And it made me think about what it feels like, what it does to us, to feel seen, heard, appreciated. »
In turn, in contact with Luma, faced with his existence, we cannot help extrapolating; we can’t help wondering if, fundamentally, this story isn’t quite simply that of humanity.