It feels as if a reel escaped the French New Wave and landed in 2025—whole, stylish, breathing, and alive. (No spoilers.)
Yesterday I watched the premiere of “L’Étranger / The Stranger” by François Ozon at the Venice Film Festival (PalaBiennale), September 2; runtime — 122′). It’s a Camus adaptation with Benjamin Voisin, Rebecca Marder, Pierre Lottin, Denis Lavant, Swann Arlaud; cinematography by Manu Dacosse, music by Fatima Al Qadiri.
This is a film that doesn’t “explain” Camus—it translates him into the language of cinema: through rhythm, light, the temperature of space, and silence. And that’s exactly why you want to see it more than once.
Breakdown
Ozon doesn’t try to “explain” Camus. He turns it into pure cinema. The conflict doesn’t come from big actions but from the hero’s inertia. Meursault floats along, and this drift oddly keeps the story moving. Choices seem to happen on their own, without bold signposts, so the tension grows. We don’t get neat reasons; we just feel a dangerous emptiness opening between scenes.
The staging and rhythm are exact, never showy. The editing is patient but not slow for the sake of it. Each scene rests on one clear gesture—sound, a look, a small movement—and that carries the meaning. The camera works with air and light: heat, shimmering water, the horizon’s pulse. It’s not background; it’s part of the drama. The music doesn’t tell you what to feel—it rises from inside the image. Style is there, but it always serves the story.
What hit me most is how space makes choices for people. The beach, the white glare, the blinding sun—under this heat, a person’s outline starts to blur. Words step back. The physical feeling—heat, noise, light—does what dialogue usually does. We supply the reasons ourselves, and that feels honest to the book.
As a director, I’m taking a few simple lessons with me. Cut explanations where the environment and rhythm can speak louder. Give each scene one clear axis and don’t scatter tricks. Don’t fear a “cold” hero if the space is charged—the audience will still feel it. And let time breathe a little longer than usual: tension often lives in that half-pause between action and silence.
