Alain Guiraudie’s Misericordia asks interesting questions in a unique style, but it becomes overwrought with messy plotting and too many character motives.
★★★☆☆
Misericordia (French: Miséricorde) translates from Latin into ‘mercy’ or ‘compassion’. As Alain Guiraudie’s alluring but ultimately flawed feature goes on, there are hints at tackling this title’s meaning and all of the complexities that the plot’s specific situation produces, but too often they get lost in odd directorial choices and stilted characters. Rather than turning to intricacy, the complexity veers more awkwardly into confusion. Misericordia certainly doesn’t lack intrigue, but there is little more to gain from the film than that.
After the death of his former boss and mentor, Jérémie (Félix Kysyl) returns to his hometown to attend the funeral and offer his condolences to the widowed Martine. He is, or rather was, close to this family as a child; Martine (Catherine Frot) welcomes Jérémie warmly, and his company comforts her. Her son, Vincent Jean-Baptiste Durand, acts cordially towards Jérémie, but there is a frostiness and an awkwardness between the two men that bubbles away in the background. In these earlier exchanges Misericordia is a marvel, with a methodical, precise pace that hints at a darker edge simmering beneath this seemingly mundane French suburbia. Guiraudie unravels the plot and characters well, giving us little snippets, just enough to keep us hooked.
The aforementioned tension between Jérémie and Vincent, which has an indisputable homoerotic layer to it, eventually explodes into a violent showdown in the secluded woods. It is a moment where both Jérémie as a person and Misericordia as a film lose control. In an act of rage, Jérémie strikes Vincent on the head with a rock, killing him instantly. It’s a brutal moment of violence that is complemented by Guiaraudie’s restrained direction, shocking us in how swift and instantaneous a point of no return can be crossed. Unfortunately, the wheels begin to come off from here onwards.
After burying the body and driving Vincent’s car to a far-away town, Jérémie arrives back at Martine’s house several hours later, bruised and muddy. His story has more holes in it than a sinking ship, but all of the characters, for some reason, buy his bogus excuses. In fact, most of these characters in Misericordia seem so incredibly unrealistic. Jacques Develay’s priest character, who is the only one that sees through Jérémie’s lies and subsequently trades his silence in return for affection, is the most baffling of the lot, his motives apparently driven by love but in theory wholly lacking and undercooked. The general lust and attraction of Misericordia is a welcome addition from Guiraudie, but none of it seems that tangible in action.
The village priest delivers a late monologue to Jérémie that circles back to Misericordia’s title and overarching themes, and there is definitely some substance and food for thought to glean from it, but not enough to be that satisfying. Guiraudie keeps stretching the limits of belief as Misericordia drags on, compounded by some bizarre moments late on in the film involving a policeman. It is indicative of Misericordia as the flawed film that it is: baffling, increasingly ludicrous, and poorly thought out.
The Verdict
The initial promise of Misericordia is suffocated by scattered plotting and unbelievable characters, forcing its interesting themes to get lost. Impressive camerawork and careful pacing can’t mask the ultimately weak and confused story.
Words by William Stottor
Support the Indiependent
We’re trying to raise £200 a month to help cover our operational costs. This includes our ‘Writer of the Month’ awards, where we recognise the amazing work produced by our contributor team. If you’ve enjoyed reading our site, we’d really appreciate it if you could donate to The Indiependent. Whether you can give £1 or £10, you’d be making a huge difference to our small team.