When I first sat down to watch Misericordia, I naively assumed that it would avoid the cliché hallmarks of French films: sex, death, existential angst. I was wrong, of course, but the movie presents these themes in a way that feels fresh, folding them effortlessly into the main plot’s murder mystery.
But to call Misericordia a murder “mystery” is a bit of a stretch. We know who the murderer is the whole time. What we don’t know is this person’s true character, motives, or what the fallout from his actions will be. This is where the mystery lies. Over time, we learn not only how dark our main character’s inner life is, but also that of nearly everyone around him.
Writer/director Alain Guiraudie has intimate knowledge of the story and characters, as he wrote the 2019 novel Rabalaïre, on which the movie is based. Guiraudie brings a level of intimacy and subtlety to the story that keeps things interesting, even though there’s so much we already know.
The story centers around Jeremie (Félix Kysyl), a middle-aged man who returns to his rural French hometown to attend the funeral of his former employer. Jeremie stays with the deceased man’s widow, Martine (Catherine Frot). Martine’s son Vincent (Jean-Baptiste Durand), a childhood peer of Jeremie’s, dislikes this arrangement. As the days go by, it becomes apparent that Jeremie has no job and no family to go back to. Vincent worries that Jeremie will take advantage of his mother and sleep with her.
Like I said, very French.
To be fair, Jeremie does seem to have an insatiable sexual appetite and makes advances towards several characters. This makes us question who he is, what he values, and what elements of his past are true. He himself is a mystery. When Vincent turns up missing and likely murdered, our view of Jeremie becomes even murkier.
The investigation into Vincent’s disappearance uncovers the sins of many residents of this small, French town. We learn that most of the residents have done bad things, and are in need of mercy. The dark secrets seem to be what make the world go round, rather than the exception. This point is driven home when even the town priest reveals himself to have hidden motives and a willingness to compromise his morals.
This story’s calm, dark subtlety is executed best by Kysyl and Frot, who frequently, wordlessly convey multiple contradicting emotions. At once, they ambiguously display sadness, hope, despair, or gratitude. On the one hand, it’s contradictory; on the other, we somehow know exactly what they’re thinking.
Of course, the performances are set up well by Guiraudie’s script. He knows when merely a look will suffice. He knows when two words are better than ten. The film is full of long stretches of time where no one is speaking. Men are walking silently through the woods. Two people sit quietly on a couch together. When they must talk, the exchange is often minimal. This provides both clarity and ambiguity.
And that is the point. The film wrestles with so many things that should be clearly right or wrong, like murder and justice. But it’s not that simple. It’s disquieting to watch this film, knowing there is so much unresolved and so many guilty people who will never pay. But as the priest, L'Abbé Philippe Griseul (Jacques Develay) points out, we are all guilty. We all need mercy. It’s almost hypocritical to cry out for justice. It’s both disturbing and comforting.
In the final scene, when Jeremie places his hand on top of Martine’s—indicating that yes, he is going to sleep with her—we are filled with a quiet acceptance of the word’s dysfunctions. It doesn’t feel good or right, but at least it feels true.
Even though it’s an unsettling film, I’ve been thinking about Misericordia for days. It’s a compelling story that exposes the deepest, most isolated parts of human nature. It’s beautifully told with a formidable cast and a gorgeous, remote setting. This is a must-watch, especially if you have any appetite for French sensibilities.
Misericordia is now playing at Siskel Film Center and Landmark Century Cinema.
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