Director Louise Archambault takes a considerate and measured approach to her adaptation of “And the Birds Rained Down,” which is fitting for a number of reasons, not the least of which as a reflection of the more seasoned characters featured. Put less euphemistically, this is a movie about old people, and when one passes a certain age, the urge to rush vanishes beneath the ominous crag of a metaphorical clock with a Damocles-esque shape. In less capable hands and/or with weaker source material, this might have presented hurdles, but Archambault manages to thread the needle, here, and a thoughtful analysis of history and personal agency remains.
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The shadow of the Jocelyne Saucier novel upon which the film is based never drifts too far out of sight, with the characters and their history subsuming narrative elements throughout. When the audience meets elderly French-Canadian hermits Tom (Rémy Girard) and Charlie (Gilbert Sicotte), the pair are living deep in the woods by a remote lake where they take a daily swim with their dogs and fellow recluse, Boychuck. The film doesn’t linger here, however, moving to the nearby city where middle-aged Steve (Eric Robidoux) is escorting his elderly aunt Gertrude (Andrée Lachapelle) from a psychiatric hospital to the funeral of the latter’s brother.
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Archambault is slow to introduce the “why” of this world, choosing instead to focus on the “who,” which comes like a slow, steady drip for all of the characters. Tom and Charlie, for example, are dealing with the sudden death of Boychuck when a photographer and historian, Rafaëlle (Eve Landry), happens upon them. Rafaëlle is interviewing the elderly residents of the area for an oral history of a massive fire that devastated the region dozens of years ago, and Boychuck is one of the most notable survivors. Rafaëlle’s research has brought her out to the remote lake where Steve is managing a nearly forgotten hotel, which he feels is the perfect hiding place for the aunt he can’t bear to return to the hospital.
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These disparate character strands feel appropriately novel-esque and probably shouldn’t work on the big screen since they require considerable patience, and serve as the terminus of much of the story rather than particulars of the narrative. Who these characters are, how they got to the wilderness, and the reasons they remain there is the engine of the movie, and it operates flawlessly throughout. Without veering off into spoiler territory, the audience learns that each of these characters is running away from the roles that society has predetermined for them, finding solace instead in the quiet of the Canadian wilderness. Even Rafaëlle, who acts as the detective for much of this by way of her interviews and photographs, seems to find refuge in the mystery of the great fire and the legend that is Boychuck.
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Yet running away from something doesn’t vanquish one’s demons, it just puts them in the rearview mirror for a time. Rafaëlle’s work hints at this, too, for in speaking to her interview subjects, she appears to be drawing out what photos cannot, just as a million words can’t convey what one photograph can with the right gaze or posture. She’s groping around for meaning and seems to find only half of it when shifting focus to try and capture it by other means. It’s the struggle that Tom, Charlie, and Gertrude have fled to the forest to escape, yet the pain and grief that chased them there are never really gone, with the steps taken to escape only bringing them closer to the trauma.
It’s a complex and fascinating study of the weight of the past, the ways people hide in plain sight, and what it means to unknowingly live a life on the emotional lam. Archambault’s deliberate approach to the material never comes across as plodding or badly paced, either. At two hours (sans credits), “And the Birds Rained Down” moves slowly but never feels sluggish. Shots linger on characters taking another’s hand or singing Leonard Cohen songs longer than what might seem necessary, but each moment is a strand of the emotional tapestry Archambault weaves, and each is strung with exacting precision.
Girard, Sicotte, and Lachapelle are breathtaking in the lead roles, and reward the confidence Archambault must have had in them to carry the emotional weight of these characters. Although the audience doesn’t learn the particulars of their various backstories until roughly halfway through the picture, there’s never a moment where one is left wanting for a connection to these people. As the film wraps up, the characters come to understand what it means to live with grief, regret, and acceptance for a life that isn’t always fair. Yet life endures as long as a heart continues to beat, and if anything can be taken away, here, it’s this notion that it’s never too late to try and live honesty with one’s self and the world. [A-]
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