The Restless (Joachim Lafosse, 2021) (Patreon)

Belgian though he may be, Joachim Lafosse seems to fall into a particular category of French director whose work seems primarily designed to win Césars and Louis Delluc Prizes. The films embody a 21st century Tradition of Quality, with their undistinguished realism, acrobatic performances, and above all, the sorts of bourgeois family crises that, in their very depiction, have become shorthand for creative "honesty." I saw Lafosse's After Love (2016) several years ago, and although I think I admired it at the time, I remember next to nothing about it. Other of his films, particularly Private Property (2006) and Our Children (2012), have their admirers. But is anyone really a Joachim Lafosse fan?

The Restless was Lafosse's first film to make it into competition in Cannes. It garnered a few positive notices but was mostly ignored. If anything distinguishes The Restless, it would have to be its wrongheaded attempt to generating empathy for an artist (Damien Bonnard) who is bipolar, and his wife Leïla Bekhti) who can only be described as "long-suffering." From a mental health standpoint, Lafosse's film is certainly ableist, staging highly theatrical manic episodes for the delectation and discomfort of the viewer. Damien has family and friends but they all respond to his outbursts as if they'd all just met him.

But ableism is only the most obvious of the film's sins. As we know, there is a grand tradition in cinema that creates ostensible portraits of the mentally ill in order to provide a showcase for extreme stunt acting. There are, of course, examples of this trope that are better and worse than others. Cassavetes is probably the apex of this kind of art, with films like A Beautiful Mind, 12 Monkeys, and Quills representing the usual way that this business goes down. Here, Bonnard goggles his eyes and chews the scenery, the furniture, and all the other actors in his path. Whether he's terrifying small children by playing too rough and ignoring them as they beg him to stop, or ordering his wife and father (Patrick Descamps) around for an impromptu portrait sitting, or having a conniption about the dining room table -- no really -- Damien is a showboating maniac, as Inside the Actors' Studio rendition of a man in crisis.

And, as if working to fill in a bingo card of hacky, pedestrian ideas, Lafosse suggests that Damien's energy and talent as a painter is intimately connected with his mania. When he's finally forced to take lithium, he slumps around like a zombie, bemoaning his inability to work. But when he's able to make it to the studio in the middle of a meltdown, he is a dervish of productivity. Now to its credit, The Restless remains agnostic as to whether the canvases Damien paints are actually any good, when he's out of control or struggling to work through the lithium haze. But Lafosse throws the connection between genius and madness out to the viewer like ideological red meat. The eventual shift to Leïla's perspective, highlighting her anger and exhaustion, is truly too little too late, since in context it makes her seem insensitive. But if we remember that she has a front row seat for Damien's antics -- that she's our surrogate, in a way -- then her desire to exit the scene is something we certainly share.