You will literally stagger out of this film, bewildered, disillusioned and perfectly miserable. This isn't enjoyable by any stretch of the imagination. However, it's certainly memorable. Much like contracting herpes.
The tale centres on epileptic and borderline psycho, Freddie. Freddie, a scooter nut, lives in his mum's bar, has an uncommunicative sexual relationship with the girl down the street and hangs out with a gang of very dumb and very unattractive wasters in a dreary provincial French town. It sounds harsh, but trust me they make the redneck murderers in Easy Rider seems congenial.
Kicking-off like a kitchen sink drama with bikes, it slowly dawns that Bruno Dumont's debut film is no Quadrophenia or The Wild One. This is pure social realism. There are no stylish gimmicks or hint of light relief courtesy of a groovy soundtrack. If anything, La Vie De Jesus mocks the infamous Marlon Brando hero figure. Freddie, the twitching, unsympathetic yob, keeps a finch (On the Waterfront), rides a bike (The Wild One), shaves his head (Apocalypse Now) and suggests sodomising his girlfriend (Last Tango In Paris).
Maybe these comparisons are stretching credibility, but Dupont certainly seems to be saying that the staple inarticulate, "silent one" in the majority of Hollywood films is essentially a ridiculous myth.
Freddie lives in a town less glamorous than a septic tank. AIDS, starvation in Sudan, Armistice Day do impinge themselves on this drab place, but it doesn't change the locals and their parochial prejudices.
The first half an hour is merely depressing, the last hour excruciating. The descent begins with some mindless bigotry aimed at a family of Arabs in a cafe. The collective moronism and crassness of the town embodied by Freddie uttering, "Shut up, you wogs." This racist incident introduces us to the only moderately likable character of the entire piece, Kader (Kader Chaatouf). However, from the word go you know things are going to end badly.
Revolutionary French director Jean Luc Godard would probably be pleased with this unrelenting grimness, the greyness, the endless social comments and, to some extent, this is indeed a very powerful and worthy work. However, do not expect to feel empathy for the yobs as in the marvelous La Haine or indeed any hint of stylish camera work to break up the film's painful, nihilistic journey. Almost unwatchable.
Ben Walsh
The tale centres on epileptic and borderline psycho, Freddie. Freddie, a scooter nut, lives in his mum's bar, has an uncommunicative sexual relationship with the girl down the street and hangs out with a gang of very dumb and very unattractive wasters in a dreary provincial French town. It sounds harsh, but trust me they make the redneck murderers in Easy Rider seems congenial.
Kicking-off like a kitchen sink drama with bikes, it slowly dawns that Bruno Dumont's debut film is no Quadrophenia or The Wild One. This is pure social realism. There are no stylish gimmicks or hint of light relief courtesy of a groovy soundtrack. If anything, La Vie De Jesus mocks the infamous Marlon Brando hero figure. Freddie, the twitching, unsympathetic yob, keeps a finch (On the Waterfront), rides a bike (The Wild One), shaves his head (Apocalypse Now) and suggests sodomising his girlfriend (Last Tango In Paris).
Maybe these comparisons are stretching credibility, but Dupont certainly seems to be saying that the staple inarticulate, "silent one" in the majority of Hollywood films is essentially a ridiculous myth.
Freddie lives in a town less glamorous than a septic tank. AIDS, starvation in Sudan, Armistice Day do impinge themselves on this drab place, but it doesn't change the locals and their parochial prejudices.
The first half an hour is merely depressing, the last hour excruciating. The descent begins with some mindless bigotry aimed at a family of Arabs in a cafe. The collective moronism and crassness of the town embodied by Freddie uttering, "Shut up, you wogs." This racist incident introduces us to the only moderately likable character of the entire piece, Kader (Kader Chaatouf). However, from the word go you know things are going to end badly.
Revolutionary French director Jean Luc Godard would probably be pleased with this unrelenting grimness, the greyness, the endless social comments and, to some extent, this is indeed a very powerful and worthy work. However, do not expect to feel empathy for the yobs as in the marvelous La Haine or indeed any hint of stylish camera work to break up the film's painful, nihilistic journey. Almost unwatchable.
Ben Walsh