Director: Léonor Serraille
Stars: Annabelle Lengronne, Ahmed Sylla, Sidy Fofana
Questions of heritage and belonging thrum throughout and around the quixotically titled Mother and Son, which is known as Un petit frère (“A Little Brother”) in director Léonor Serraille’s native France – the first indication that something’s been a little lost in translation here. The mismatch in these titles seems indicative of a hesitancy to pin down the familial focus of Serraille’s wandering tale. Here, we witness the cliff notes of 20 years in the lives of a splintered Ivory Coast family fashioning a new identity in and around Paris.
The film’s most immediate asset and wonder is Annabelle Lengronne who gives one of the year’s finest performances as stridently independent mother Rose. We begin in 1989. Newly arrived in France with only two of her boys – 5-year-old Ernest (Milan Doucansi) and 10-year-old Jean (Sidy Fofana) – her dedicated section of the story in this milieu is the most anchored and engaging.
Rose is painted as somewhat battle hardened and resilient, even as she relies on the kindness of their extended family to get herself and her boys on their feet. We witness Rose selecting her own partners, working fastidiously as a hotel cleaner, and Lengronne’s naturalistic way with the character is documented with emotive intimacy by Serraille. Indeed, one single kiss between Rose and a potential suitor (Majd Mastoura) in this opening stretch is given a most palpable, languid build-up. Serraille seems inspired by her actor, and something quite heady is conjured.
Here, with the sons in the peripheries at school, the film is strongest because it invites us to be just as diverted by Lengronne. One memorable sequence sees her crossing the grounds of an old heritage estate in a summer dress, her beautiful skin tone and modernity throwing new configurations on the relationship between the landscape and African representation in French cinema. Serraille’s focus feels fleetingly like a bold reconsideration. The sequence itself is indicative of a narrative querulousness that is soon lost. Rose looks suspiciously from among the gathered group for what seems like a hunting party. A surprise cut to morning sees her stepping weary from the aftermath of an orgy. Serraille holds back details and we’re drawn toward this mystery and its complex class and racial insinuations. Nothing further is forthcoming.
The second two portions of the film refocus to the boys. A jump of 9 years places us in the company of teenage Jean (Stéphane Bak) and Ernest (Kenzo Sambin), now living in Rouen away from their mother. With Lengronne absent, Mother and Son falters into humdrum and pedestrian tales of angry young men. Rose’s matriarchal myopia about what is best and right for her sons steered the trajectory of the film’s first half. Discovering them off course and floundering may underscore her importance in their lives, but it leaves us untethered and the urgency of the film more or less disappears. Through this and a further jump to the late 2000s, Mother and Son comes to feel both novelistic and shapeless. Without Lengronne, Serraille seems less inspired and the whole piece suffers.
Things refocus for a showstopping cafe reunion between Rose and Ernest – now an adult (Ahmed Sylla) – and a long flowing conversation showcases two great acting talents. It feels like a truer representation of familial dialogue than nearly any I’ve seen on film. Underplayed beautifully by both performers, it reminds again how spellbinding our time with Lengronne has been.
Stories of African experiences acclimating to the mores and secret codes of white western society have huge value as we strive to grow more interconnected, but that initial question of ownership and narrative authority doesn’t quite disappear. Much like Riley Keough and Gina Gammell’s presentation of Native American experiences in the recent War Pony, one can’t help but wonder if Mother and Son is truly Serraille’s story to tell. Regardless, Keough and Gammell’s film felt bolstered by its publicised collaborations and more complete in the watching. Just like the reticence to pin down a focus in this film’s shifting title(s), Mother and Son feels less conclusively presented. When it’s on fire it shows some genuinely beautiful artistic choices from Serraille, who continues to evolve promisingly. But the fuel for said fire is always Lengronne, and she isn’t always there.
The Lost Highway Hotel 