[psycho d]

La Haine (1995). The incongruity of this flick can be described as an artsy fartsy piece of vicious French thug cinema. Hatred is made into entertainment, an expostulation of a necessary movement by way of celluloid magnificence whose stylistic depth will require multiple viewings before hitting its philosophic foundations.

The story revolves around three friends whose ethnicities are not unaccustomed to hatred, but these guys can deal it out as well they can take it. Violence has become second nature, and the audience comes dashing in at the most explosive moment of our would-be thug's lives. The notion of hatred is explored with a voyeuristic and genuine flair. The result is a heart wrenching bite of reality as no solutions are offered, just reality painfully exposed.

The story was simple yet effect, with many WTF moments that seem unnecessary but in a movie of such impact, we all know better than that. In the intro there is a noteworthy quote whose import is infused into the heart of this movie's infrastructure. It even enjoys a repeat visit to keep us the viewer on track for fear that we may be enjoying ourselves almost too much. The puissance of the bathroom scene is not to be forgotten, its importance still fluttering just out of reach for character and audience alike. Maybe that scene's import is found in the movie's end, as powerful a movie punch as can be jawed even by the thickest of filmatic* skins.

The acting is documentary spot on, but the potentially gritty portrayal is softened by the directorial depth. Vincent Cassel is of course sensational. Along with his acting chops his mighty swagger was just coming into its own. Together with his compadres, played by Hubert Koundé and Said Taghmaoui, these guy make for a great trio in a world that offers no reprieve, no exit. It's them against the system, and the system has gots the money and the power.

Of course the real muscle of this movie comes from filmmaker Mathieu Kassovitz. That a movie with such a potent social message could be made not only watchable but enjoyable, that its significance has made ripples in other countries where it has become compulsive viewing by those in power, this is a pretty high water mark that is difficult to achieve. The accolades, though, are all more than deserved. The cinematography was nothing short of astonishing. Every scene meticulously composed, and then brilliantly transcribed onto the reel only to be edited with the aplomb of a master. The hip hop crane scene is not be missed, but instead repeated for as many times as seems appropriate.

The dialog felt authentic, and whilst its staccato nature made for a busy remote, it was worth every rewind. For those not blessed with the film's native tongue at your beckoning call, I suggest watching the more industrious scenes twice from the get go, first for the subtitles and then for the action as it splashes onto its mise en scène in its efforts to create one of the world's greatest moving string of compositions.

After its conclusion, with all that has happened, with all that was left unresolved, if this film does not leave your brain reeling, spinning restlessly trying to figure out what cinematic force of nature has just conducted a hit and run on your skull's innards, then you'd better lay off that weed man, cause its starting to leave some scars.
d

*I know I know, but it really should be a real word