THE QUIET SON. Without Subtlety [REVIEW]

In The Quiet Son, Delphine and Muriel Coulin this time tackle the theme of fear of the political radicalization of young people, which tears families apart from within. The political climate in France, which – much like in Poland – increasingly resonates with extremism, inspired the Coulin sisters to tell the story of Pierre (Vincent Lindon, awarded for this role at an international film festival) and his two sons – the elder, nicknamed Fus (Benjamin Voisin) for his passion for football, and the younger, Louis (Stefan Crepon). While 20-year-old Louis begins his studies at the Sorbonne, becoming the pride of his parents, Fus abandons training in favor of fascist militias.

Pierre watches in horror as the child he once understood so perfectly becomes a stranger to him.

The Quiet Son is essentially a three-actor stage play. The screening is filled with emotions typical of family relationships. A father, raising his sons alone after their mother’s death, is on one hand proud of how they are coping and gladly lets them go out into the world; on the other hand, he cannot loosen the control he holds over them. Out of a natural instinct to protect them from what he considers a threat, he embarks on a warpath. Fus, whose views are unacceptable to his father and incomprehensible to his brother, only clings to them more tightly the stronger he feels opposition from his loved ones.

Louis is caught in the classic trap between a rock and a hard place – on the one hand, he enjoys his father’s approval and takes pride in his own accomplishments, but on the other, his love for his brother prevents him from cutting ties completely.

Vincent Lindon is so natural in his performance that at times the viewer loses the sense of watching fiction, and looking at his worried, weary face, feels part of his drama. Helpless in his confusion, Lindon seems to throw up his hands – indeed, at one point he says directly, in the script’s words: “I never imagined it could come to this.” His son – the boy his mother once lovingly called Fus, the child who will never cease to be his child – has slipped entirely from his influence and, as people used to say, “fallen in with the wrong crowd.” When? How? Pierre desperately tries to pinpoint the moment when the seemingly indestructible thread of understanding was severed. At the same time, he struggles to salvage what is crumbling before his eyes. Lindon leads this character in a way worthy of every accolade.

The young actors alongside him follow – perhaps not as if after a mother, but certainly after a caring father. Stefan Crepon, in the role of the calm Louis, could easily have remained in the shadow of the seasoned Lindon and the expressive Voisin. Instead, he marks his presence subtly yet firmly, refusing to be pushed to the margins. Though the conflict between Fus and his father forms the backbone of the plot, Crepon’s Louis reminds us that The Quiet Son is not a tale of father versus son, but a study of family.

Benjamin Voisin, as Fus, seemed at first to have the easiest task. As the embodiment of youth radicalization, he could have played the role according to stereotype, even caricature. Instead, he chose a more nuanced, much more interesting path. His Fus remains until the very last scene a boy whose final downfall is hard to truly believe. The filmmakers have guided the three characters in such a way that The Quiet Son becomes above all a film about the fear of bonds breaking and the inability – and often the lack of skill – to communicate among those who are closest.

Naturally, The Quiet Son is also a warning. The film cannot be confined within the four walls of a family drama and makes no attempt at subtlety.

It bluntly shows the consequences of what is happening today in many places – not only in France, but also in our own backyard. The Coulin sisters make a strong statement about a reality in which radical ideologies increasingly invade our homes and tear apart even the strongest bonds. Their warning is direct: political conflicts do not end in parliament – they can destroy communities and families. That is why The Quiet Son feels less like a metaphor and more like a reportage – and it is precisely this that makes it so unsettling.