‘Misericordia' Review: Danger Always Hides in the Bushes
In 'Misericordia,' a rakish youngish guy named Jérémie drives back to a French village for the funeral of his old boss, a baker, who has kicked the bucket at 62. And the instant the widow lets Jérémie (Félix Kysyl) into the living room, he and the baker's adult son, Vincent (Jean-Baptiste Durand), a mushroom forager, share the sort of charged eye contact that tells you 'Yup, these two definitely did it.' We don't know when or how far things went. Something happened, though. But because 'Misericordia' (Latin for 'mercy') has wafted from the cauldron of the writer and director Alain Guiraudie, it's possible I'm wrong.
Ambiguity? Mixed motives? Casual lawlessness? These are his considerable strengths. 'Misericordia' culminates in kink, killing and some gloriously literal deus ex machina. So maybe what I'm experiencing as an erotic charge is caution. But again: it's Guiraudie, the man who brought us the 2014 murder-at-the-gay-nude-beach sensation 'Stranger by the Lake' and a bedroom farce ('Nobody's Hero,' 2023) whose component parts included racism, terrorism, sex work, domestic violence, paranoia, jogging and vaping. The caution is erotic.
His movies, meanwhile, prove absorbingly absurdist, this new one especially. It's got its own rhythm. If Guiraudie isn't mocking the way we've been trained to receive stories, films, people, then he's at least disrupting the usual patterns. Retraining us to see anew, to suspend expectation and abandon comfort, the way that John Waters and Mike Leigh, Aki Kaurismaki, Hal Hartley and the other oddball live-action cartoonists have. It's risky, but something thrilling and often true usually comes of it.
Guiraudie presents life at its basest and gamiest. So I trust my instincts about Jérémie and Vincent. I know hunger when I see it. And 'Misericordia' is dotted with hungry eyes. Jérémie stays the night at the widow's. The room she offers is the one Vincent grew up in, maybe the room where It Happened. Jérémie and Vincent even make the bed together. But rekindling's not on the program. Regression, maybe. The bed all made, Vincent — who's pushing 40, is bald, and has a lisp and a cleft lip — suggests playing some Yahtzee, like they used to. Jérémie declines.
From there, reunion curdles into disunion. And the homecoming movie you might have been wanting becomes the funkier tale of a sociopath who opts to overstay his welcome. Jérémie doesn't get up to much: the occasional drive around town, a walk in the forest, some horseplay with Vincent on the forest floor where he should be foraging for mushrooms. What does he want? The late baker's clothes, for one thing; his shoes, too. The widow, Martine (Catherine Frot), seems super OK with that. She doesn't even appear to mind the probability that Jérémie's list of infatuations likely included her husband. They flip through a photo album together and admire how good the dead man looked in a Speedo. (They're not wrong.)
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