Melancholy memories

Philippe Falardeau’s C’est pas moi, je le jure
is a bittersweet coming-of-age drama

by MALCOLM FRASER

There’s been a mini-trend in recent Quebec film towards coming-of-age films set in the sixties. Léa Pool’s Maman est chez le coiffeur and Francis Leclerc’s Un été sans point ni coup sûr both trafficked in bittersweet nostalgia for the days of Expo 67, beehive hairdos and stubby beer bottles. Now Philippe Falardeau, who brought us the intriguing La Moitié gauche du frigo and the powerful Congorama, adds his voice to the chorus with C’est pas moi, je le jure—though his contribution is more bitter than sweet.

The film’s tone is set right away in the first shot, with 10-year-old Léon (Antoine L’Écuyer) coming within a hair’s breath of semi-accidentally hanging himself from a tree in his front yard. When not engaged in self-destructive acts, L’Écuyer spends his summer days tormenting the neighbours, and his frazzled mother (Suzanne Clément) and barely present father (Daniel Brière) only half-heartedly attempt to curb his anti-social behaviour.

As in Pool’s Maman, the mother eventually abandons her family to go overseas, leaving the kids to fend for themselves with their hapless father barely in charge. When a neighbouring family goes on vacation, L’Écuyer breaks into their house and embarks on a destructive rampage, which of course only leads to more problems. In the midst of all this, he develops a crush on schoolmate Léa (Catherine Faucher), who turns out to be almost as troubled as he is.

The cast is strong (particularly young L’Écuyer), the film has a great look with some spectacular camerawork, and the talented Falardeau has a nice touch with the general atmosphere. The reason for the ’60s setting is a bit unclear, with only the occasional fleeting reference to current events, though it certainly makes for great production design.

But Falardeau’s script, based on two novels by Bruno Hébert, is unrelentingly dark—for anyone who knows (or used to be) a troubled kid, L’Écuyer’s travails are truly painful to watch. Falardeau has cited Lasse Hallström’s My Life as a Dog as an influence, but it’s as if he’s retained that film’s melancholy without much of its whimsy. C’est pas moi is a good film, but you have to be in the mood for a feel-bad movie.

C’EST PAS MOI, JE LE JURE
OPENS THIS FRIDAY, SEPT. 26