THE SUN KING A man has died at the Roi Soleil, a bar-pmu in Versailles. He left behind a winning lottery ticket worth several million euros. With a little more respect for reality and their consciences, the witnesses to the tragedy could walk away with …
USEFUL GHOST After Nat’s tragic death from dust pollution, March sinks into mourning. But his daily life is turned upside down when he discovers that his wife’s spirit has been reincarnated in a vacuum cleaner. Though absurd, their bond is reborn, stronger than ever—but far …
RENOIR Tokyo, 1987. Eleven-year-old Fuki lives between a hospitalized father and an overwhelmed, absent mother. A suspended summer begins for Fuki, between solitude, strange rituals, and childhood impulses. The portrait of a little girl with extraordinary sensitivity, who seeks to connect with the living, the …
SENTIMENTAL VALUE Agnes and Nora see their father arrive after many years of absence. A renowned director, he offers Nora, a stage actress, a role in his next film, but she defiantly refuses. He then offers the role to a young Hollywood star, reviving painful …
Alpha, 13, is a troubled teenager who lives alone with her mother. Their world comes crashing down the day she comes home from school with a tattoo on her arm.
After Grave, then Titane – controversial Palme d’Or in 2021 for a film with undeniable visual ambition, but a shaky script – Julia Ducournau returns with Alpha, presented in official competition at Cannes. Unfortunately, this third feature film fails to clarify the intentions of its director or to elevate her cinematic gesture: we find the flaws already present in Titane, pushed here to their paroxysm, without ever finding the visceral power that at least made Grave unique. This third feature film, eagerly awaited, unfortunately confirms a trend: that of a cinema of excess, more flashy than truly transgressive.
The script quickly becomes confusing, multiplying red herrings, satellite characters, and tonal shifts without managing to weave any real overall coherence. The narrative structure, supposedly fragmented, instead gives the impression of an unfinished project, where each scene seems to struggle against the previous one to impose a meaning. The dialogue, often stiff or unnecessarily hermetic, undermines the little dramatic momentum the story attempts to build.
In terms of the staging, the claimed radicalism too often veers into mannerism. The photography, a uniform gray, struggles to visually convey the characters’ inner selves or the emotional density of the situations. The musical selection, heterogeneous to the point of becoming absurd, interrupts more than it accompanies, and the sound mix—shrill, saturated, sometimes unbearable—contributes to a device that seems to confuse intensity and din.
The actors, most of whom are well-known, struggle to find their place in this floating universe. Lacking a real emotional anchor or precise acting direction, their performances oscillate between excess and emptiness. Some subplots, sketched out and then abandoned, leave a feeling of incompleteness and betray the absence of a truly controlled perspective on the story.
Alpha may have been intended as an organic fable about unfinished grief, therapeutic obstinacy, and the AIDS years. But by abandoning the rigor of the writing in favor of a posture of transgression that has become predictable, Julia Ducournau seems to have strayed into her own obsessions. What could have been a powerful cinematic gesture becomes a confused and pretentious work, where stylistic effect systematically takes precedence over dramatic coherence, and Alpha confirms that radicalism without a compass can quickly come to nothing.
HAIL MARIA Maria, a young writer who has just become a mother, is fascinated by a news story that occurred not far from her home. Obsessed with the woman who committed the irreparable act, she seeks to understand her actions. Writing then becomes her only …
USEFUL GHOST After Nat’s tragic death from dust pollution, March sinks into mourning. But his daily life is turned upside down when he discovers that his wife’s spirit has been reincarnated in a vacuum cleaner. Though absurd, their bond is reborn, stronger than ever—but far …
In Iran, retired dance teacher Tarlan witnesses a murder committed by an influential government figure. She reports it to the police, who refuse to investigate. She must then choose between giving in to political pressure or risking her reputation and resources to seek justice.
In 2023, Iranian artist Medhi Yarrahi released a song titled “Roosarito” in tribute to the death of student Jina Mahsa Amin, which sparked widespread Iranian protests in 2022. One of his verses included the following line: “ Take off your headscarf and uncover your hair, my love, don’t be afraid, laugh, protest against tears .”
The choice of this music during the credits of The Woman Who Knew Too Much encapsulates almost all of the work’s intentions. In the vein of protest Iranian cinema, Nader Saeivar’s film makes no secret of its anti-regime ambitions. The recent treatment inflicted on the Iranian population during the protests has deeply affected the country, a trauma that is now felt through a plurality of visual proposals, whether it is The Seeds of the Wild Fig Tree by Mohammad Rasoulof or the more similar Reading Lolita in Tehran by Eran Riklis. The stakes are similar in The Woman Who Knew Too Much , if the entire Iranian people suffer the pangs of an authoritarian theocracy, the first victims are above all women, the first oppressed by an anti-feminist society due to religious extremism.
It is through the eyes of Tarlan (Maryam Boubani) that we follow his investigation into the murder of his spiritual daughter, Zara. A case whose ambiguity quickly diminishes to arrive at the ultimate conclusion, the crime is in reality a femicide perpetrated by her husband. The introduction, which opened with a dance scene in which the women filled the frame, gives way to the disappearance of one of them, an inevitable prelude to what will turn out to be a film that indicts the liberticidal measures imposed on the female segment of the nation. If the Iranian regime cannot eliminate women from existence, it seems to do everything to restrict them, as much their minds, their actions as their bodies .
So, from the very beginning, this innocuous act of dancing already seems to pose a problem, first and foremost for Zara’s husband, who seems at first obsessed by the image it sends of him before we understand that his concern is more despotic: through his dancing, his wife’s obedience escapes him. The film sometimes struggles to make dancing a truly political act (as did, in a different context, Taylor Hackford’s White Nights ), the sobriety of the looks and words is often enough to describe the real reasons for Zara’s death, while explaining the barriers that Tarlan faces in her quest for truth.
But while the feature film exalts the dignity of the victims, it tends to soften the protest charge of a revolt that the brutality of the regime would make almost inevitable. The choreographed conclusion unfolds like an invitation to pacifist activism, substituting an allegorical and poetic response for the armed response, where dance stands as a political instrument of resistance. This resolution, however, reveals a troubling ambivalence: the call for gentleness in the face of barbarity questions its true motives. Should we discern in it the desire to offer a reassuring and universally acceptable image of the struggle, or rather a sincere loyalty to forms of protest rooted in the daily experience of Iranian women?
This shift of the conflict towards the symbolic space of art thus opens a broader question: does it magnify the power of resistance by giving it an allegorical dimension, or does it water down its scope by neutralizing the harshness of a fight that the violence of the regime seems to condemn to confrontation? Between sublimation and attenuation, the choreographic gesture becomes both anthem and enigma, revealing the full complexity of the role of art in political struggles.
Beyond the symbolism of the dance, it is also seemingly insignificant gestures that provide a more direct window onto the ongoing authoritarianism; as when Zara’s husband closes the curtains to keep “his” wife(s) secret, or when Tarlan’s daughter, her face bruised and swollen from her husband’s blows, is reprimanded for not wearing the hijab. The work can sometimes seem timid, wrongly so, because it is by slowly letting the thread of the plot flow that the unbearable straitjacket experienced by Iranian women emerges. The political shenanigans, which prevent Tarlan from shedding light on his daughter’s murder, are only the exposed face of an oppressive architecture, destined to perpetuate it for as long as possible.
Some will say that current events are more than enough to realize the extent of the disaster that is Iran’s political regime, but all the works cited in this review gradually allow us to push back the boundaries of information, to make known internationally and without question, a context that seems like tyranny. There is no need to recall Rasoulof’s powerful gesture at the 2024 Cannes Film Festival to show how much this freedom of expression (and expansion) is dear to Iranian artists. Nader Saeivar also adds a new point of view to this national crisis, the character of Tarlan is a rarely used narrative vessel. Her age, her career as a former activist, her wrinkled features and her tired eyes are the face of a woman who can no longer take it, almost resigned in the face of an impossible struggle.
The Woman Who Knew Too Much is yet another look at increasingly fierce protests. While we may have once only seen these events through a small window, it seems clear that recent years have opened the door wide. As the end of the film suggests, perhaps one day this door will be more than a window of expression; it will then become the portal to freedom.
ON THE FRONT LINE Floria is a dedicated nurse facing the relentless pace of an understaffed hospital ward. Despite the lack of resources, she strives to bring humanity and warmth to each of her patients. But as the hours pass, the demands become increasingly urgent, …
THE SUN KING A man has died at the Roi Soleil, a bar-pmu in Versailles. He left behind a winning lottery ticket worth several million euros. With a little more respect for reality and their consciences, the witnesses to the tragedy could walk away with …
In a glass villa of cold, sanitized luxury, a wealthy Slovenian family maintains the illusion of a perfect life. But their artificial equilibrium teeters dangerously when a mysterious young Frenchman, with secret ties to their father, bursts into their daily lives.
Just by its synopsis, Family Therapy could directly bring to mind a sort of Slovenian version of Bong Joon-ho’s Parasite. A cubic house, completely modernized and inhabited by a family socially and financially above the norm, sees its daily life changed after several encounters with strangers from a much less well-off social class. Beyond this deliberately abrupt extrapolation, the parallels do not end there, although Sonja Prosenc’s work ultimately comes closer to an anthropological zoo than a social satire dissecting profound inequalities in lifestyle.
The term “zoo” actually fits the analysis perfectly. The staging constantly accentuates a certain contrast between man’s technological dependence and his relationship with nature, or at least with what is natural. This large dwelling, encompassing all the comfort options invented by the human race, is a sort of glass cage offering a bird ‘s-eye view of a verdant forest. The lens focuses on this family, paradoxically living in the middle of nature without ever interacting with it.
This is where the “outsiders” of the feature film come in, Julien (played by Aliocha Schneider ) and a family of tourists visibly enduring numerous financial difficulties. All these people embody a certain return to reality for these disconnected bourgeois. Family Therapy becomes a sort of “lite home-invasion”, not so much in line with the horror of Panic Room, but a foreign irruption that comes to shake up established norms. Each member of the family then performs a transgressive act, the youngest gets closer to the environment by taking on a few animal characters, and the mother emancipates herself from her pretentious artistic role to give in to her impulses. Even the father, taking on the role of the last civilized bastion for a long time, ends up entering into a total psychological wandering. Organized family stays
All this is served with some pretty remarkable photography, Mitja Licen ( Piccolo Corpo, Drevo) is a solid argument in favor of the feature film. The tight frame allows you to focus on the few decorative elements present on the screen, always magnificently highlighted by a millimeter calibration. The interior and exterior passages are wonderfully distinguished, reinforcing this sensation of seeing the characters move forward in a familiar environment, or on the contrary, outside their usual comfort zone.
However, there is still a difficulty in truly taking a proper look at the elements that the film criticizes in Family Therapy. The absurdity is never absurd enough to push towards social satire, the confrontations between “poor” and “rich” are more of a detail than a real background running through the whole story. The concept of family itself is quite lacking, the fault of characters who never benefit from balanced writing: the interactions are banal, a little tiresome in the long run as no connection is really made or unmade. The film seems to comfort itself in its aesthetic beauty so as not to always have to bring issues to the forefront. Organized family stays
Boredom, the monotony of a daily life dictated by money and an excess of comfort could have been a theme exploited to correspond to these moments of pause imposed by the feature film, but it seems that like many other ideas, this one would surely not have germinated. Thus remains a falsely random mixture of situations, alternating between the dark looks of an ironically mute Aliocha Schneider, the spatial whims of a somewhat naive father, and the malaise of the two women of the house. With such a panorama, it indeed seemed complex to join all the ends to form an impactful whole.
Family Therapy nonetheless remains a work that attempts, that searches for itself, but whose attempts are laborious. It’s difficult to get caught up in the game when the feature film itself seems slightly shaky in what it wants to tell or criticize. There’s no doubt that the interpretations will be plural, which is a strength in itself, it’s a shame that each of them will surely conclude with an incomplete analysis. Sonja Prosenc’s film is an eclectic mass, a little clumsy and heavy but never withdrawn, sometimes the whole thing rushes headlong, even if it means breaking the window of our disbelief.
TRAPPED Hank Thompson was a prodigious baseball player in high school, but now he can’t play. Other than that, everything’s great. He’s dating a great girl, he’s a nighttime bartender at a seedy New York City bar, and his favorite team, predicted to be the …