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Upon entering the cinema, I bristled with a kind of childish excitement (that is after checking and double-checking I had my glasses, for it wouldn’t be much fun watching a 128 minute subtitled French film without them). I knew that the film I was about to watch was winner of the highest award at the Cannes film festival, the Palme d’Or. The Class wasn’t to disappoint.
Given the ultra-realism of The Class, a viewer could be forgiven for thinking it to be a documentary. Even I, knowing it was fiction, left this irrelevant fact at the opening scene. Starring the real life teacher and novelist (François Bégaudeau) from whose book the film is adapted, using genuine students, and shot using high definition video cameras, it is easy to see how this quality was achieved.
The film follows one class of 13 to 15 year-olds for one year in a rough Parisian school. This gives us a snapshot of a rich ‘melting pot’ of multiculturalism and the tension caused by France’s insistence on a single national identity. This is demonstrated perfectly through the confused support of a variety of national football teams. In addition, there’s a big dollop of teenage mood-swings and existentialist crises.
From the opening moments, before the students have arrived for another year of demolition, it feels like the school is gearing up for war. New teachers have the look of fresh-faced recruits naively marching off to the Somme. The veterans have knowing, weary faces. With the exception of a couple of grisly-faced souls, the teachers are relatively new to the school; the average lifespan is short.
One such veteran is Mr Marin, expertly played by Bégaudeau, the French teacher of ‘our’ class. Blatantly an idealist, but by no means naive, he is an enigmatic character. A mix of arrogance, biting wit, but most importantly, patience and kindness, he is every inch a good teacher. At every turn he encounters resistance, not just when trying to teach his students obscure tenses, but from deluded parents and even from his disillusioned colleagues. Battles are prolonged affairs and victories are small, short-lived and Pyrrhic. Thinly disguised under a clearly hopeless traditional academic format, the lessons seem to be more about communicating, picking up on what interests his pupils and engaging them. Although the students’ behaviour is generally foul, the few lapses in their pouting haughtiness which resulted from praise were genuinely touching. Equally stirring were the moments where Marin was pleasantly surprised by his students, acting as a hopeful vindication of the teachers’ plight.
The realism of the film adds to our discomfort. We are constantly confronted with dilemmas and invited to reflect upon our own breaking points. In one uncomfortable scene we see a teacher crack under his frustration, driven almost to tears by the ‘stupidity’ and insolence of his pupils. This serves to highlight further the patience, skill and virtue of ‘our’ teacher.
This film conspicuously lacks two things: direction and a resolution. However, it is precisely the absence of these that make it so compelling. Each character’s story unfolds with both the predictability and mesmerism of real life.
Good review, Tommy! You capture the essence of this film really well. As you say, it feels a bit unnatural to even refer to it as a film because it is so much like a documentary.
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