L’ENFANT (THE CHILD)

by Kevin Koehler

Ladies of the world rejoice. No matter how miserable things are, how short on laughter and mirth, take comfort in knowing that you are not dating the lead character of L'Enfant, the Palme d'Or-winning picture from Belgian filmmaking siblings the Dardenne Brothers. Your life simply cannot be that bad.

For Bruno (Jérémie Renier) - petty crook, panhandler, and general corruptor of minors - joblessness is not a temporary condition but a none-too-elusive goal (the picture is surprisingly conservative in its treatment of the poor - panhandling profits go almost exclusively to cigarettes and furthering criminal schemes). No doubt fatherhood has matured many, but like everything else in his life, Bruno sees the arrival of baby Jimmy as another means of putting a little green in his pocket. So completely insular, his reasoning so superficial, Bruno doesn't see the hurt in selling his child on the black market. The mother, Sonia (Déborah François), faints upon discovering what her boyfriend has done, causing him to remark "What did I do wrong? I thought we'd have another." His selfishness should have come as no surprise to her - while she was giving birth, Bruno was subletting her apartment for a few dollars. Sonia returns from the hospital to find strangers having sex in her bed and must spend the night, with newborn, in a homeless shelter.

There is a very short list of films that have actually made me physically ill. It’s not necessarily a bad thing. Not necessarily good, either. There's Requiem for a Dream and its ass-to-ass climax (the good, though the film seems more manipulative with each viewing). Irreversible's seven-minute uncut anal rape scene (the bad, as it is the basest form of sadistic button-pushing). And of course, they’re the entire running time of I Spit On Your Grave (the ugly). I suppose it says something that L'Enfant achieves the sensation of nausea without depicting rectal penetration. Indeed, for most of its duration, the picture effectively conveys the troubled lives of its characters with brutal, economical storytelling.

Then comes the ending.

I'm not giving anything away by revealing Bruno retrieves Jimmy with due haste, but washing away his crime, per usual, is not as simple. His ultimate atonement is somewhat unsatisfying, honestly - codified and reductionist in a way the Brothers' previous films (Le Fils, Rosetta, La Promesse) have avoided. It would even be, dare I say, unduly predictable if the Dardennes hadn't already built a reputation for eschewing customary narrative. Cliché, here, is what was unforeseen, and in this way the Brothers disappoint. Possibly we're expected to question Bruno's altruistic final act of redemption, but I doubt it. For a film with such emotional violence, it seems a little too pat (bordering on glib) to have it end so unapologetically optimistic.

Perhaps it's unfair to ask a film where a father sells his own child for a few hundred Euros to be more cynical. C'est la vie.

Interesting footnote: The Dardennes Brothers have become somewhat of the darling of Cannes as their last three pictures have all taken major prizes. Both L’Enfant and Rosetta were recipients of the Palme d’Or while Le Fils (The Son) took home the Prize of the Ecumenical Jury. It also garnered Olivier Gourmet the festival acting award.

© Pretentious Musings. This review may not be reprinted, in whole or in part, without the express consent of its author.