The greatest mistake we can make in raising children is believing that our example is enough."
Since becoming a widower, Pierre has lived in perfect harmony with his two sons: Fus, a twenty-one-year-old athletic and sunny personality, and Louis, a nineteen-year-old more reserved and thoughtful. Their family routine has always been marked by affection, complicity, and a shared passion for soccer. However, this harmony is disrupted when the first signs of Fus's transformation emerge, as his involvement with a radical environment begins to shake the certainties of both his father and brother.
The underlying theme, the sense of disorientation of a generation that “plays with fire,” feeling neglected by politics and eventually embracing populist positions, is reworked with a more intimate and engaging approach: how do you deal with the discovery that a loved one— a child, a sibling—has taken a path you find unacceptable?
The two French directors, adapting Laurent Petitmangin's novel Quello che serve di notte, tackle this delicate subject matter—the influence of ultra environments and the absorption of extremist ideologies—with a personal touch, demonstrating care in translating the core issues of the story. They do so by focusing on an exclusively male environment, both in the family and in the socio-political sphere.
The screenplay by the Coulin sisters, concise and essential, precisely sketches the emotional dynamics that unfold between Pierre and his sons. The portrayed realism carefully depicts the family’s daily life, presenting a story that explores the contrast between affection, disappointment, and misunderstanding. The film digs deep into the conflicting emotions that the protagonists experience, between loyalty and growing disillusionment, offering a credible human portrait. The excellent performances from the actors manage to convey all the nuances of this intimate drama, enhanced by a minimalist yet effective direction that adds further depth to a work of great emotional impact. The father is immersed in a deep turmoil, a painful inner conflict between unconditional love for his son and repulsion for his choices. Every principle conveyed, every gesture of integrity with which he tried to be an example, seems to have dissolved into nothingness, replaced by beliefs that feel foreign, even threatening. It’s as though the son has betrayed not only the father’s values but also the very essence of their relationship, consciously choosing a path that contradicts everything the father has always believed to be right. Faced with this painful rift, Pierre cannot understand whether the fault is his—whether he made a mistake, whether he failed to protect his son from certain influences—or if it is simply impossible to truly guide those you love toward the good. The distance between them is not only ideological; it is emotional, the unbridgeable gap left by misunderstanding and a sense of helplessness.
This is a familiar theme in cinema, enjoyable, easy to grasp, yet particularly important in a historical period marked by ideological tensions. The film succeeds in authentically portraying the discomfort and fragility of emotional relationships in the face of difficult and painful choices.
When hatred becomes law, resistance becomes a duty.
