France is too mild for a satire, too elusive for a psychological drama

‘I write simple stories to be able to ask complicated questions’, said French director Bruno Dumont in 2010 during a masterclass at the Amsterdam film academy. Much has changed in his method since then, but this premise has remained. Also Dumont’s new movie France wants to dig deeper than meets the eye.

Dumont made his name with sober, angular country dramas like La vie de Jesus and Hors Satan, played by amateur actors and situated in the northern French coast bordering Belgium. Quite suddenly he exchanged his deadly serious style for comedies of his own, with the inimitable television series P’tit Quinquin and the unpopular movie Ma Loutea† This was followed by a musical about the childhood of Joan of Arc and an unsung drama about the adult Jeanne, played by a child.

His work is therefore anything but predictable. France is again a surprise. Dumont worked with the French star actress Léa Seydoux and paints a portrait of the media world: a cut-out of the Parisian elite that is miles away from poor northern France.

France de Meurs (played with stoic devotion by Seydoux) is a big star in France. She presents a current affairs program and also travels as a journalist to war zones, where she accurately puts together poignant news items. Her specialty is beautiful crying: tears well up in her eyes at just the right moments.

When she accidentally hits a moped courier, her personal life also begins to become a vale of tears. The accident seems to make her think. Is she happy with her job, her semi-famous husband and their son? When everyone is constantly filming or photographing you, is there still room for undirected emotions?

Again and again Dumont zooms in on France’s face, again and again she has to cry — sincere or feigned, that is the question. Her personal crisis remains shrouded in mystery. This also applies to Dumont’s view of the media world: every time the film seems to make a statement, it suddenly bends again. For a satire is France too mild, too elusive for a psychological drama.

As it turns out France yet again just as radical as Dumont’s earlier work: in the search for meaning, the viewer gets very few points of departure. It’s frustrating because the story seems so accessible. The questions the director wants to ask are undoubtedly interesting, but they remain very well hidden.