Watched The Secret of the Grain. Deeply touched. Abdel Kechiche rocks. Hafsia Herzi is as beautiful as a wild rose (she gained 15 ponds weight for this role). It makes me think of my father, his life, his worries, his world. It makes me think of myself, as a flowter, a minority, a nameless nobody. The film is shot almost like a documentary, with lots of close-ups, and shot reverse shot. Longer conversations between characters than what a feature film usually has. Sometimes the sound effect isn't that good. But those conversations give the film a smell of real life. Yes, those seemingly tedious casual chats, jokes carelessly made, laughters, gossips, trivial details...just as buzzing as the life we live.
The film powerfully shows many ordinary people. They are ordinary because they can be anybody. Nice evil people. Even really bad people had moments of authenticity (think of the facial expression on the elites' faces when little Rym performed the belly dance!). Nice people, such as the Mother, can be sympathetic to the poor and the weak, but had no mercy for a lonely woman and her beautiful outspoken daughter.
The main characters, Beji, his wife, kids, lover, and daughter-alike little friend Rym, don't belong to the so called "French society." They are Arabian immigrants, social outcasts to the well-cultivated Frenchmen. They speak accented French. They cook causcaus with mullet. They are the minority.
Beji's story starts from his unemployment. He was fired at the age of 61. He got no money, no house, no job. The only thing he had was a wreck he bought with his all savings. He decided to turn it into a restaurant. But he failed to get official permission from the local gov. He decided to give a grand party and invited the local elites to come tasting his ex-wife's fish couscous. He wished that the good taste of couscous would open the door for him and bring him good luck. Everything was ready, and everything was going well until the last minute. That's when, as audience, my heart throbbed. I was out of breath when the 100 people waited and waited. I was waiting too. I saw old Beji vainly running after his motorcycle stolen by three teenagers, my heart ached.
Beji's face and figure say a lot about him. Most of the time, he is silent. When he was yelled by his exwife, ignored by his daughter, criticized by Rym, frustrated by himself, he gave very few words. He smoked, lowered his head, and signed. He was tense in front of the govern staffs. His wrinkles kept recording his suffering and his bitterness. It is a face of a poor old man. For his ex wife, he is a good for nothing husband, a useless man. For his lover, he is a nice old piece of wood, but who knows how long it would last. Yet the way Kechiche dealt the topic of masculinity is interesting. Looking from the surface, Beji is a loser, useless regular man. But he is not completely unfortunate. At least, he has two women who love him dearly, Rym and her mother. Especially Rym. This twenty-year young girl, just like the window in Beji's room, is the salt of his tasteless life. Beji's life burns only for this pure selfless love. Meanwhile, that prosperous powerful deputy mayor candidate, seemingly possessing everything, was cheated by his beautiful wife and knew nothing about his tumbledown marriage. The former's life is like the pickled vegetable pot under the eaves of old country house. It doesn't look neat, yet sending out aroma when it ages. The latter's life, however, is like the Ikea paper-wrapped floor lamp, which looks fabulous, but it won't stand one finger's poking.
Tears welled my eyes when Rym, in red, started the belly dance. Her full young body trembled in time to the beat of the Arabian music. She was like a piece of inflamed maple leaf spinning in the air. One single blossom of red rose in snow. Her youth is so beautiful that catches my breath. Her heart is as beautiful as, No, even more beautiful than her appearance.
Many scenes show the depth of Kechiche's observation of the "good evil" feature of ordinary people. For example, Karima's French husband complained about that his company did not want "Frenchman" but immigrants without recognizing that his father-in-law, Beji, and actually his wife were from immigrants background. The immigrant background does not necessarily lessen the second-generation's hatred toward new immigrants. Another example would be Karima and Olfa's attitudes toward Rym and her mother went to Beji's party. The false politeness and kindness are alike what we have in Chinese society.
My only critique would be that some conversations are not of importance to the development of the story and the characters. They can be cut off or made to be more succinct, such as the potting training of Beji's granddaughter, and the family dinner. The Secret of the Grain lost to Lust Caution in 2008 Venice Film festival. I am with the jury in that Lust Caution's language is deliberated and better controlled.
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