In “The Peace Process”, Ilan Klipper films the rescue operation of a couple on the verge of a nervous breakdown

Simon (Damien Bonnard) in


two months later Trips to Italyby Sophie Letourneur, ninety-six years later Dawn (1927), by Friedrich Murnau, The Peace Process, by Ilan Klipper, makes the wear and tear of the couple and their hypothetical rescue the argument of his new film. The couple therefore wears out, it’s a fact, more surely than the infinite variations that regenerate it on the big screen. Klipper, 45, a certain tone in French cinema, more confidential than it should be, is notably the author of Starry sky above my head (2017) and tightrope walkers (2020).

Read the interview with Ilan Klipper, filmmaker: Article reserved for our subscribers “My job is to transform my neuroses into something creative”

Either a fiction about a young prodigy of the French novel who, after twenty years of vainly preparing his return, finds himself in his underpants at the age of 50 threatened with hospitalization at the request of a third party embodied by Jewish parents, who are still seeking to marry him. There, a very sensitive documentary on a certain number of characters struggling with madness, so many starry weaknesses delirious with reality for lack of conceiving it.

That there is for Klipper a sort of perfect poetic reversibility between the motives of Judaism and madness, here is what is hardly in doubt and which is proven recta in his new film. Which opens with a tropism correlated with the double theme evoked: the guy in underwear and a dressing gown, unshaven, grumbling in a confined apartment. Here Simon (Damien Bonnard), scruffy, lymphatic, anxious, in other words in full marital dynamics with his wife Marie (Camille Chamoux), both fingers in the grip, who asks him to change the little one because she is very, very, very too late for the magic show, and that he considers that in addition to the filthy and permanent mess of the apartment which she never remedies despite his reiterations, such a request amounts to a kind of declaration of war.

Simon (Damien Bonnard) and Marie (Camille Chamoux) in

As the title suggests, it’s a film about love, and therefore about war. Simon and Marie, parents of two young children, are the two main belligerents. Him, professor of history of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict at the university (the course becoming, at regular intervals, surface of projection of the disputes of the couple), big staked and extra-tender piece, Ashkenazi good dyed who takes too much on him for not regularly freaking out, but always at such a distance from the conflicting cause that he passes for a dangerous lunatic.

Simon loops The little train, of the Rita Mitsouko, to their little girl, taking care to specify that it is, in reality, a death camp story. Playing radius: lunar burlesque, wait and see. She, on the other hand, is constantly at full throttle, an ultra-frontal fighter, host of a feminist radio show that is making waves. Radius of play: speed, agility, get inside. Suffice to say that electricity emerges from this Hawksian couple, worked against a backdrop of Jewish catastrophism.

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