Great friends are hard to find and even harder to keep. Transcending basic labels, Leo (Eden Dambrine) and Remi (Gustav de Waele) occupy a dynamic that is more than a friendship but certainly a few notches below romance. At only 13 years old, they're far too young to care to define it, instead blissfully operating as two halves of a greater whole, basking in each other's presence as they do in the plenteous beauty of the Belgian countryside. Their innate connection radiates a purity that can never hope to last, doomed to fall prey to both pride and the suffocating grip of social convention.
Belgium's official Oscar entry, and now Academy Award-nominated, Close is both remarkably understated and sentimental. The film is split into two parts, with the former half being markedly stronger and more emotionally rich, underpinned by an unforgettable sense of quiet devastation. However, even when its more overt, embellished moments emerge, it becomes virtually impossible to break free from the emotional, visually resplendent current of its majestic opening moments.
Enjoying a halcyonic fraternity in each other's homes and bonded by every element but blood, their friendship is rightly life-defining and life-altering. Unflinching in their acts of affection and intimacy, the two don't see their importance to each other as anything out of the norm, but their relationship is one traditionally only accepted among young girls. Society's unwavering gaze comes between their primordial friendship, bringing their idyllic, carefree summer to a screeching halt when a new classmate asks them, seemingly without prejudice, "Are you together?"
These simple words pull Leo away, and he inserts himself into a larger, more recognized peer group — much to the dismay of a heartbroken Remi, who amputates their connection in a more definitive manner.
Director Lukas Dhont and director of photography Frank van den Eeden capture this prelapsarian companionship with a subdued, painterly touch. The pastel palette lends immense texture to this glimpse into a special bond caught in the thresher of normalcy. Dhont's lens lingers on each of their caring stares, slowly zooming into their faces and enveloping the frame, conveying a visual language of unspoken, enduring love. The sheer scarcity of such a companionship is rendered with strokes both tranquil and profound, painting a tragic portrait.
As the duo's bond is slowly severed, Dhont captures the new disheartening timbre of each previously cherished bikeride and midday nap with heartbreaking detail, shedding light on the cascading effect of subtle adjustments and calculated mannerisms. This is most forcefully realized in an innocent brawl the two engage in that slowly reveals itself as painfully genuine.
The picturesque rural side of Belgium becomes a character itself, with its summery verdure giving way to a strenuous fall harvest and then a brutish winter that increases the burgeoning divide between Leo and Remi. Dhont's visual mastery and technical skill elevates Close a cut above similar fare, treading an impassioned yet subdued path that is easy to get lost in.
Yet, for all the film's nuances, Dhont surprisingly opts for a more sentimental route halfway through the film, given force by an unexpected twist. Tracking the duo's divide with a more blatant tinge of melodrama, Close begins to rely more on recycled tropes (like when Leo pensively trudges through the rain) and an exaggerated score, repeating many of the same beats en route to its weepy conclusion.
Nonetheless, the tired formula that pervades the second half is fuelled by the brilliance of the first, allowing the feelings of grief and despair that shroud our protagonists to occur naturally. Though lacking the subtle wallops of its opening, the final act still maintains a patient, (mostly) observant approach to its depiction of emotional healing. Coupled with Dambrine's supremely sincere, lived-in turn that wholly embodies the tragic confusion of prioritizing masculinity over enduring friendship, and Close cements itself as an experience that never fails to stir and rouse authentic emotion.
(Sphere)Belgium's official Oscar entry, and now Academy Award-nominated, Close is both remarkably understated and sentimental. The film is split into two parts, with the former half being markedly stronger and more emotionally rich, underpinned by an unforgettable sense of quiet devastation. However, even when its more overt, embellished moments emerge, it becomes virtually impossible to break free from the emotional, visually resplendent current of its majestic opening moments.
Enjoying a halcyonic fraternity in each other's homes and bonded by every element but blood, their friendship is rightly life-defining and life-altering. Unflinching in their acts of affection and intimacy, the two don't see their importance to each other as anything out of the norm, but their relationship is one traditionally only accepted among young girls. Society's unwavering gaze comes between their primordial friendship, bringing their idyllic, carefree summer to a screeching halt when a new classmate asks them, seemingly without prejudice, "Are you together?"
These simple words pull Leo away, and he inserts himself into a larger, more recognized peer group — much to the dismay of a heartbroken Remi, who amputates their connection in a more definitive manner.
Director Lukas Dhont and director of photography Frank van den Eeden capture this prelapsarian companionship with a subdued, painterly touch. The pastel palette lends immense texture to this glimpse into a special bond caught in the thresher of normalcy. Dhont's lens lingers on each of their caring stares, slowly zooming into their faces and enveloping the frame, conveying a visual language of unspoken, enduring love. The sheer scarcity of such a companionship is rendered with strokes both tranquil and profound, painting a tragic portrait.
As the duo's bond is slowly severed, Dhont captures the new disheartening timbre of each previously cherished bikeride and midday nap with heartbreaking detail, shedding light on the cascading effect of subtle adjustments and calculated mannerisms. This is most forcefully realized in an innocent brawl the two engage in that slowly reveals itself as painfully genuine.
The picturesque rural side of Belgium becomes a character itself, with its summery verdure giving way to a strenuous fall harvest and then a brutish winter that increases the burgeoning divide between Leo and Remi. Dhont's visual mastery and technical skill elevates Close a cut above similar fare, treading an impassioned yet subdued path that is easy to get lost in.
Yet, for all the film's nuances, Dhont surprisingly opts for a more sentimental route halfway through the film, given force by an unexpected twist. Tracking the duo's divide with a more blatant tinge of melodrama, Close begins to rely more on recycled tropes (like when Leo pensively trudges through the rain) and an exaggerated score, repeating many of the same beats en route to its weepy conclusion.
Nonetheless, the tired formula that pervades the second half is fuelled by the brilliance of the first, allowing the feelings of grief and despair that shroud our protagonists to occur naturally. Though lacking the subtle wallops of its opening, the final act still maintains a patient, (mostly) observant approach to its depiction of emotional healing. Coupled with Dambrine's supremely sincere, lived-in turn that wholly embodies the tragic confusion of prioritizing masculinity over enduring friendship, and Close cements itself as an experience that never fails to stir and rouse authentic emotion.
