Who by Fire First Draft

Complete first draft for Slant Magazine.

For viewers familiar with Philippe Lesage's international breakthrough Genèse (2018), the beginning of his follow-up may come as a shock. Who by Fire, the Canadian director's fourth narrative feature, starts not with propulsive schoolroom dancing, but with stasis in motion, following a car on a highway as it winds its way deeper into the woods. The shot holds for an unnervingly long time, accompanied by a droning musical accompaniment, before moving into the car, where two people's legs and hands are seen as they sit side-by-side, crammed in the back seat. The tentative movements eventually give way to faces captured in a gliding pan; only later will it be made clear that this car contains screenwriter Albert (Paul Ahmarani), his two children Aliocha (Aurelia Arandi-Longpré) and Max (Antoine Marchand Gagnon), and the latter's friend Jeff (Noah Parker), on their way to Albert's former collaborator Blake (Arieh Worthalter) in his cabin only accessible by seaplane. The somewhat spiky sense of humor established by this early journey sets the tone for what slowly reveals itself to be a tremendously unpredictable, protean work, drawing its energy from the disparities between the history of certain relationships and how they can unexpectedly develop and feed upon each other. Of course, it all stems from the latent resentment between Albert and Blake: after a series of acclaimed films, the latter decided that he wanted to move away from fiction and towards truth, making documentaries for a much smaller audience and leaving the former in the lurch. This is the first time that they have seen each other in years, and their playful roughhousing and first trading of barbs have already been showcased by the time the first of Albert's prized wines have been opened. This entire dynamic would be enough to sustain a typical film, but Who by Fire's ambition is such that it not only folds in numerous specialties prized by each man—Albert's highly developed palate, Blake's aptitude for the outdoors—but also seems to expand, infecting each significant relationship with more than a hint of rivalry. The most unexpected bond formed and broken is between Blake and Jeff, who was invited to the cabin because of his interest in filmmaking and admiration of the veteran director, though his eye quickly wanders towards Aliocha and her own conflicted feelings. Piled on top of this are various associates of Blake's, including his editor, cook, hunting guide, and eventually a couple—including a former star played by Irène Jacob—who take up residence in the lodge partway through, notching up the intrigue to even greater heights that are somehow sustained across 160 minutes. Who by Fire relishes each and every challenge it places itself. It is a film with few onscreen people but a stuffed ensemble cast; it makes great use of the central lodge yet possesses an increasingly expansive sense of the surrounding woods and rivers; it deals frankly with illicit desires but offers a certain discretion. The coy sense of play sometimes literally bursts into song, including a rollicking (and hilariously plot-relevant) group dance to the B-52s' "Rock Lobster," but is typically expressed by Lesage's facility with camera movement. A few scenes set at the dining table are as expressive as anything in the cinema of the past few years, including a long take where the camera drifts over the table into seemingly impossible positions. One of Who by Fire's greatest assets is Lesage's willingness to shift the tenor of his film to fit any given sequence. Sometimes, the entire genre switches; one stretch in the first half follows Jeff as he gets lost in the woods at night and quickly has to find shelter, resembling a survival thriller more than anything else. Its fluidity even extends to setting—it's entirely unclear when the film takes place, with typewriters and Steenbecks clashing with a mention of Jacob's character's stardom in the 1990s—and point of identification: Jeff eventually emerges as the main character but (by design) Parker's unassured, recessive presence is outmatched by Ahmarani and Worthalter's gregarious loquaciousness. What is certain, after all the emotional exuberance and anguish felt at certain moments, is a central irresoluteness. After all the sparks, the fire still burns, even if it's only a few smoldering embers.