decoding lafleur

Stéphane Lafleur's first feature, Continental, un film sans fusil won accolades at festivals around the world, but divided audiences into two distinct categories: those who "got" it (and loved it) and those who didn't.

Everyone has a hard time describing Lafleur's work, including the filmmaker himself. Operating in a gray zone between tragic comedy and comic tragedy, he deftly walks the line between funny and sad. One thing is certain: people love to talk about his films because they are so mystifying.

In the considerable media buzz around the première of his sophomore film, En terrains connus (watch the trailer in French here), it's hard to find a reviewer willing to guess at what it means. So, I offer you my own humble interpretation; if you don't want it to influence your viewing, I invite you to stop reading now and come back once you've seen the film (it opens locally on Friday the 18th).

In a recent interview, Lafleur credits a single image as the catalyst for this film: a man from the future gives someone a warning that is ultimately ignored. The media has made much of this figure, grasping on to him as a recognizable archetype from science fiction. In my opinion, the Man from the Future is nothing but a trigger for the real story to begin.

In his opening remarks before the première, Lafleur dedicated the screening to his sister, and I can see why. En terrains connus is about Benoit and Maryse, a brother and sister in a bleak suburban setting who tentatively form a bond five years after the death of their mother. This sounds simple, but the telling is far from conventional and demands much of the audience, especially at the beginning while the through-line takes its time to emerge. The viewer's patience is rewarded with a surprisingly moving ending and a unique insight into the brother-sister relationship.

After the screening, a friend remarked on the recurring motif of hands; Maryse witnesses an accident in which a man loses an arm, Benoit scrapes up his hands while punching a snowman to bits and at one point yells, "Look at these hands! Everything I touch turns to shit!" In this film, hands represent power and control; only once Benoit develops a connection with his sister does he gain some power in his life.

Even more than story, Lafleur is adept at creating atmosphere. Obviously drawn to the sadness of kitsch, he creates characters too unsophisticated to live in stylish houses, surrounded instead by sad-sack, worn-out clutter (i.e. a snowmobile that only their father can start and a light-box designed by their mother to combat the winter blues). His films celebrate the absurdity of life through seemingly random encounters in the environments he so deliberately creates.

Don’t mistake this for pretension—Stéphane is the most unpretentious person you will ever meet. His films focus on awkwardness because in his eyes, there is no drama in perfect, emotionally intelligent characters with good taste in clothes who always know what to say and do.

It is useless to impose logic on something that is supposed to be surreal. However, Lafleur is not maliciously trying to pull the wool over anyone's eyes. Although his work may appear heavily coded, he is simply faithful to his own unique voice, creating meaningful emotions disguised as randomness. This is no small feat, a brave choice that he admits is bound to lose some viewers along the way (although the room last night was on its feet). I wish him much success with the film and with his career, which is off to a most brilliant start.