OK, no funny business this week. Just a straightforward review. No interrogative techniques. No verse. No sky-writing. I don’t have the time. Or the energy. I have a life. It’s quite a crappy one, full of ennui — who are these people who say there aren’t enough hours in the day? There are far too many! — but if I don’t attend to it, who will? (If you leave ennui to its own devices, it will take over your gutters, and then fur up your pipes, and, if it doesn’t get into the brickwork, you’re lucky.) So let’s get on with it, and on to Monsieur Lazhar, which was nominated in the best foreign category at the Oscars — it lost out to the Iranian film A Separation, which I trust you have seen, or there truly is no hope for you — and is what I would call a Tinkling Piano Film.
A Tinkling Piano Film is one of those quiet, delicate films in which not much happens bar, perhaps, a single incident, and from then on it is an exploration of all the reverberations, as a piano tinkles tinklingly in the background. The Tinkling Piano Film is related to, but distinct from, a Mournful Cello Film, which is much more depressing, and can make you want to throw yourself under a train. (In my experience, western European cinema tends to specialise in Tinkling Piano Films whereas eastern Europeans, particularly the Russians, tend to be more into Mournful Cello Films, as well as bad knitwear.) Whatever, this Tinkling Piano Film is quite the thing: thoughtful, intelligent, elegant, touching, warm and with some splendid dashes of humour. It almost made me forget myself, which is weird, as well as something of a novelty.
Written and directed by Philippe Falardeau, this is a French–Canadian production set in Montréal, and it begins with that single event which, in this instance, is absolutely shocking; a young boy, Simon, opens the door to his primary school classroom and sees that his beloved teacher has hanged herself (tinkling piano; tinkling piano). His friend Sophie also catches a glimpse before all the children are shooed away (tinkling piano, tinkling piano).
Next, we spool forward to a couple of days later when Monsieur Lazhar, an Algerian immigrant as played by Mohamed Fellag, an Algerian theatre director and actor, arrives at the school to offer his services as a substitute teacher, having read about the suicide in a newspaper. He claims to have had 19 years of teaching experience in his homeland and, somewhat out of desperation, the head, who is otherwise a prim, no-nonsense, by-the-rules sort of person, hires him.
Monsieur Lazhar, who is gentle, soft-spoken, dignified, takes over the class and although he initially struggles to find his footing — he has his own cultural adjustments to make — he soon wins the children’s affection as well as our own. He is no Monsieur Frites, as this is a film entirely without cheap sentimentality. Instead, he is watchful, sensitive and, as we learn, has survived a personal tragedy of his own that makes him particularly empathetic. He reaches out to his students even though he has been sternly instructed not to mention the suicide — a psychologist has been drafted in for that — and even though the children are variously traumatised. Simon (Émilien Néron), in particular, feels peculiarly connected to what has happened, and is especially troubled, while Alice (Sophie Nélisse) has her own difficulties. The child actors are all superbly natural, as is Fellag, who ensures everything we see is somehow emotionally honest, direct and sometimes funny. (Watch out for his first run-in with Rice Krispies Squares, which he just can’t get his head round.)
What is this film about? Ethnicity? Loss? Immigration? Grief? Healing? Life in the round? Providing comfort to children in an age when touch is prohibited even though what they really need is a hug? (One colleague says teaching nowadays is like ‘dealing with radioactive waste’.) Or is it all these things? Probably, but the touch is so light, so casual, nothing is rammed home or over-done. It gives us a situation, then studies the ripples, without any CGI battles, or even any journeys of any kind. It is like life. It must have given A Separation a run for its money, and I would recommend it, which isn’t something you hear very often from someone whose life is so full of ennui. (I might have to get the whole house repointed soon; tinkling piano, tinkling piano.)
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