‘Misericordia’ Review: Alain Guiraudie’s Mines Comedy and Melodrama in Tale of Repression and Loneliness | Cannes

Stranger by the Lake writer-director Alain Guiraudie remixes his favorite themes – loneliness, longing, unrequited love, obsession, secret, crime, coverup – once again in his favorite small-town setting, in Misericordia, which premiered at the Cannes Film Festival. He also brings back that sense of mischief most prominently seen in The King of Escape, his 2009 feature, which has yet to receive a proper U.S. release. 

Misericordia is actually reminiscent of many Coen brothers neo-noirs, except that Guiraudie exhibits a bit more heart and empathy toward his hapless characters. And indeed, those characters, who act against their better judgment, are fueled by desires and emotions that register as all too human. 

After quite some time in Toulouse, Jérémie (Félix Kysyl) returns to Saint-Martial to attend the funeral of his former employer, Jean-Pierre, proprietor of the only bakery within a 15-kilometer (about 9.32-mile) radius. Jérémie claims to have recently broken up with a girlfriend, but he also lingers a bit long when, while flipping through a photo album, he comes across a photo of Jean-Pierre dripping wet in a speedo. 

Martine (Catherine Frot), Jean-Pierre’s widow, prefers company over grieving alone. She grants Jérémie an extended stay at her house, and even floats the idea of Jérémie taking over the bakery, which he is hesitant to commit to. Though he does seem increasingly emboldened, asking specifically for underwear when Martine offers him Jean-Pierre’s old clothes to wear. 

Vincent (Jean-Baptiste Durand), Martine and Jean-Pierre’s son, is at first happy to see his old roughhousing playmate. But once Jérémie announces his intention to prolong his stay, Vincent immediately regards him as an interloper and wants him gone. 

Jérémie spends most of his days wandering through the woods, supposedly foraging for mushrooms. He never comes across anything, though, while others leave with their baskets full. The local abbot (Jacques Develay) seemingly always pops up at the most inopportune times to call attention to Jérémie’s futility. 

Loneliness is an epidemic in a small place like this. Jérémie obsessively pines for a dead man who, for all we know, was always cishet. Martine wants a son she can mother, tuck in bed at night and lock up after curfew. And of course, the old man of the cloth is harboring carnal desires he cannot consummate, but which he nonetheless declares after dragging the object of his affections into the confessional. Jérémie apparently also crushes on Walter (David Ayala), a frumpy loner who has never married.  

Saint-Martial being a village, gossip travels at lightning speed. Everyone seems to be up in everyone else’s business, like how everyone seems to know whenever Jérémie pays Walter a visit. When a disappearance takes place, the denizens seem to know The Secret and wish to guard The Secret to keep the charade going, even if just for a little while longer, to sustain their illusion and false hope.  

This impulse is very familiar, something Guiraudie previously toyed with in Stranger by the Lake in which the witness to a murder decides to keep quiet at the prospect of love – with the serial killer, prompting critic Richard Brody to aptly draw the Silence=Death analogy. Misericordia is not that serious and doesn’t aspire to be, though the same feelings of desperation for love and companionship depicted here are still too real.  

Guiraudie expertly creates a foggy mysterious atmosphere and the appropriate amount of suspense, despite this being more overtly a comedy. The threat of The Secret being exposed is constant, even if everyone seems to be in on it. Still, the potentially nerve-racking scenes are often played for laughs, such as the police officer (Sébastien Faglain) breaking into homes at night to interrogate people in their sleep.  

More so than Stranger by the Lake, Misericordia articulates the selfish (or maybe not) reasons people love from afar or choose to be accessories and protect criminals, though it’s far less tragic and heartbreaking – there isn’t a gay man further isolated by age and portliness who is actively seeking death by luring the killer. Misericordia is also more realistic – since death isn’t a viable prospect the characters have to contend with.  

It’s an offbeat comedy made of a bunch of sad topics. Then again, Stranger by the Lake had its share of funny moments. Depending on whether you’re a glass half full or glass half empty kind of person, the ending of Stranger by the Lake could be described as . . . hopeful? Misericordia gives us a comparable conclusion, which can be construed as happy if these characters can live with it.

Grade: B

This review is from the 2024 Cannes Film Festival where Misericordia premiered in the Cannes Premiere section. The film has been picked up by Janus/Sideshow for U.S. distribution.