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Deindustrialized French Town Sets Vivid Scene for Troubled Coming-of-Age
If you’ve ever been to towns in distant parts of European countries where once-thriving industries have disappeared, leaving the community adrift, you’ll likely recognize the setting of And Their Children After Them (Leurs enfants après eux). These are towns frozen in time since their economic mainstays shut down. This stagnation becomes palpable during local celebrations, like when the locals dance exuberantly to the old Euro-pop hit “Rivers of Babylon” by Boney M.
Writer-director brothers Ludovic and Zoran Boukherma capture this atmosphere perfectly in their adaptation of Nicolas Mathieu’s 2018 Prix Goncourt-winning novel. The story, set in a fictional Northeastern French town, spans four summers between 1992 and 1998 but feels like it could be set decades earlier.
Paul Kircher stars as Anthony, a 14-year-old introvert when we first meet him. Wearing a leather jacket in the heat and flicking a cigarette into a polluted lake, he exudes a mix of awkwardness and forced bravado. His cousin (Louis Memmi), ever the opportunist, drags him into swimming and later crashes a party, spurring a chain of events that define Anthony’s coming-of-age journey.
At the party, Anthony tries to impress Steph (Angélina Woreth) after a tense encounter with Hacine (Sayyid El Alami), a Moroccan kid, leading to an escalating series of confrontations. Despite their cultural differences, the film subtly shows the similarities between Anthony’s family and Hacine’s, especially their shared struggle to escape their stultifying environment. Both Anthony’s father Patrick (Gilles Lellouche) and Hacine’s father Malek (Lounès Tazaïrt) are former co-workers at a now-defunct steel mill, a constant reminder of better days gone by.
The film narrowly focuses on Anthony, leaving Hacine’s story somewhat underdeveloped. Despite this, El Alami’s performance is notable, though his entry into the local drug trade is mentioned only in passing. The filmmakers stay true to the novel by confining the events to four pivotal summers, asking the audience to fill in some gaps.
Throughout the film, the intricate dynamics of Anthony’s family life unfold. His father Patrick, initially a raging alcoholic, undergoes a poignant transformation as he tries to mend his fractured relationship with his son. Anthony’s romantic endeavors with Steph also thread through the narrative, marked by missed opportunities and fleeting moments of connection.
Steph, portrayed by Woreth with captivating authenticity, grapples with her own issues despite her comparatively comfortable background. This mutual struggle forms the basis of her subtle bond with Anthony. Meanwhile, Vanessa (Christine Gautier), a friend of Anthony’s sister, becomes a recurring, albeit reluctant, presence in his life.
Kircher’s portrayal of Anthony is both raw and tender, capturing the character’s awkwardness and vulnerability. His interactions with Steph are particularly touching, revealing a young man still growing into himself. Even after a stint in the army, there’s a lingering sense of the boy he once was.
Moments of potential romantic fulfillment between Anthony and Steph, such as a tender dance to Francis Cabrel’s “Samedi soir sur la terre” during a Bastille Day celebration, add emotional weight to the film. Musical choices, both French and international, from various eras, enrich the storytelling.
The film’s orchestral score by Amaury Chabauty heightens the emotional impact, particularly during dramatic shifts in mood, like the abrupt end of summer’s carefree pleasures. This film marks a significant step up for the Boukherma brothers, who bring a cinematic sweep to their storytelling, blending Hollywood-style production with French nuances.
Though some scenes tend toward melodrama, the directors’ sensitive handling of intimate moments and their use of traveling shots create a fluid narrative rhythm. Cinematographer Augustin Barbaroux captures both the beauty and stagnation of the setting, adding depth to the film’s visual storytelling.
Despite its nearly two-and-a-half-hour runtime, which could benefit from some trimming, the film remains engaging. Additional social and political context might have justified the length better. Nevertheless, And Their Children After Them weaves a deep sense of melancholy throughout. Even in moments of joy, like the communal celebration of France’s 1998 World Cup win, there’s an underlying sadness of a generation left behind.
Source: Variety
