Alpha
Julia Ducournau's latest arrived with relatively little buzz. It wasn't until I saw a poster plastered against a random wall in Antwerp that I even knew of its existence. Fair enough, I don't really keep track of the big arthouse festivals (it played at Cannes), but you'd think a former Palme d'Or winner would get a bit more excitement going for her latest film. Having seen Alpha, it's easy to see why this may have had a tougher time finding passionate support. It's no doubt her toughest and most ambitious film so far, and a bit of a challenge for anyone not ready to dive into it headfirst.
Together with Coralie Fargeat and Lucile Hadzihalilovic, Julia Ducournau is one of the leading ladies of French genre cinema. What connects the three is that they all cross over into arthouse territory to some degree, with Alpha probably being one of the most balanced examples to date. Ducournau's films have always had a close link to social dramas, which is driven to the extreme here. It's no wonder then that the film has an uphill battle to fight when it comes to finding its audience, as arthouse and genre audiences rarely overlap.
Alpha is a film that lacks focus, deliberately so. It divides its time and attention between different themes and connected storylines, but they never clearly converge. Instead, the lines between them blur and become even more obtuse as the film progresses. It's an emotional trip rather than a narrative one, one that waves back and forth between societal issues and body horror, an undescript world in peril, and a family unit barely holding things together. I'd say a second viewing is necessary for those who need a tighter grip on the plot, but the film is more than powerful enough to impress on its first viewing.
Alpha is a young teenager who lives with her single mother. She's hanging out with the wrong people, and one night she comes home with a tattoo on her arm. Her mother, a doctor, is extremely worried since a strange virus is circulating, and blood is the primary way it is transmitted between people. To make things even harder, her brother returns home and needs a place to stay. He's a recovering drug addict who is a liability to have around the house, but she has no other option but to take him in. Alpha doesn't want him around, but she has no say in things.
The presentation as a whole is intense, so it's no surprise that the cinematography plays an important role. The camera tends to focus closely on its subjects, while the surroundings often appear blurrier or even completely out of focus. It creates a claustrophobic and personal atmosphere (without tampering with the aspect ratio, how novel is that) where the audience finds no escape, apart from the occasional establishing shot. The special effects, though limited, are impressive, and Ducournau does well in creating an otherworldly setting without showing too many explicit details.
The cinematography is on point, but it's the music that's doing most of the heavy lifting here. Alpha is the perfect example of a film where I don't really care for the music itself, but the way it's used makes all the difference (the nightly escape scene being the perfect example). It fuses with the visuals, creating an oppressive wall of sound that once again offers no chance of escape for the audience. All you can do is sit, watch, listen, and experience, no matter how uncomfortable things become. Ducournau has mastered this art, and her films are so much better for it.
To finish things off, the performances are also stunning. Boros is excellent as Alpha, performing a splendid balancing act between scared kid and adventurous teen. Farahani and Rahim are perfect as Alpha's troubled role models. They're never evil or villainous, but they're clearly far from role models, struggling with their own ordeals. The rest of the cast is solid, but most of the attention goes to the central trio and how they try to keep each other from crashing down. They ensure the drama isn't merely superficial, and that the audience remains invested, even though the world around them spins out of control.
Alpha is an impressive film, and there's a lot to love here, but its boundless ambition also requires a bit of effort from the audience to keep up with everything that is happening. The constant switching of genres, the endless emotional assault, and the narrative twists are a lot to balance all at once. It may work better the second time around (knowing what to expect), and unless you're willing to let everything wash over you and bluntly experience the rollercoaster that is hurled at you, this film is going to pose some serious challenges. Some people will consider this a negative, but I welcome this kind of cinema.
Regardless of where you stand, I don't think anyone would contest that Alpha is a very personal and bold film. And I've said this before, this type of cinema deserves to be championed, especially nowadays. But that's not why I gave it a high rating. I genuinely loved every second of it. The confusion, the cinematic prowess, the emotional distress, and the mix of genres all contribute to an overwhelming experience that swept me off my feet. Julia Ducournau is one of France's leading directors, and I, for one, am glad that she's able to make her films with Belgian tax money. It's money well spent.