On March 23, 2020, the Premier of Quebec, François Legault, decreed a complete “pause” of the province in an attempt to slow the progression of COVID-19. From one day to the next, all forms of gatherings are prohibited. In CHSLDs and other residences for the elderly, seniors, who are particularly vulnerable, are left to their own devices, deprived of visits, beneficiaries of deficient care provided by caring but overwhelmed staff. Many will die alone, without their loved ones being able to hold their hand or whisper their love.
In You’ll never know, his fifth feature film, Robin Aubert offers a moving immersion into the daily life of a resident devoid of contact with the outside world, as well as with the woman he loves. With four walls, a few minimalist props, brilliant lighting effects, a main actor and a few extras, the filmmaker manages to evoke solitude, languor, fear and sadness, but also the reality of the nursing staff, the flaws of our health system and the consequences of isolation.
Paul Vincent, an old man at the end of his life, counts the minutes while he is forced to remain locked in his room during COVID. Between his bed and his armchair, he waits, his gaze passing from the window to the family photos hanging on the wall, worrying about his neighbor’s incessant coughing, trying to maintain his passion for ornithology by listening to bird songs. birds recorded in a tape recorder.
As the day goes on, his solitude is only interrupted by a few overwhelmed members of the nursing staff who, despite the delays in the delivery of meals and the impossibility of providing all adequate care, take the time — with an outstretched hand , an embrace, an attentive ear, an open heart — to support the only human bond that still unites Mr. Vincent to the world. Without news of his lover, who lives in the same residence, the latter will do everything possible to find her, with the indirect help of these precious guardian angels.
Framed in a suffocating 4:3 format, the staging embraces the protagonist’s state of mind by emphasizing, notably thanks to ingenious lighting effects, the endless passage of time. The camera, in the background, multiplies fixed shots and long tracking shots, thus becoming the observer of a day which passes at a debilitating slowness – as if its subject were forced to continue living outside the world – and capturing the gestures, the routines, the mannerisms, the looks and the buried emotions which revive a humanity that everything in the environment seeks to silence.
The proposition, which may seem dry, however brilliantly escapes miserabilism thanks to the luminous and dignified scenario of Robin Aubert and Julie Roy. Even in moments of intense vulnerability – we think in particular of a particularly striking scene including a diaper change, great gentleness and a lot of panache – the duo exposes reality without depriving the protagonist of his agency or the caregivers of their kindness. .
This feat is made possible by the dazzling work of Martin Naud, 88, who, in his first appearance on the big screen, delivers an embodied performance, carrying a wisdom that only an acute knowledge of life and radical changes in rhythms that it imposes could exhale with such truth.