At the beginning of The Son - which played the 2002 New York Film Fest - the viewer helplessly collides into the life of Olivier, via the Dardennes' oft used over the shoulder point of view shot which weaves through emotionally airtight situations as he relentlessly plods forth as a proponent of the progress of troubled male youths.
Olivier is a divorced carpenter who teaches his trade to young boys without homes, an occupation he finds more satisfying than working in his brother's sawmill. One day he comes across an application for another boy, Francis. He tells the secretary he has no room for this boy, but we soon find out through interactions with his melodramatic ex-wife, that there's more to it than that.
Soon after, while home and listening to voicemails of older boys who were once under his wing, Olivier is paid a visit by his ex-wife who tells him she's getting remarried and is pregnant, a bit of info which can be confusing when one doesn't know how long they've been apart, but which also may reveal Olivier’s real motive in looking out for these boys.
Olivier decides to take on Francis and later will be asked for much more from the boy himself. Olivier seems to take a special interest in Francis, keeping a close eye on his progress through the rudimentary stages of carpentry, a trade more biblical than Francis’ past trespass, which looms in the near future as the topic of conversation between the two.
One touching scene near the middle of the film shows Olivier on his way out of a deli running into Francis. Olivier waits a bit near his car eating, as if to see if the boy needs a ride. Francis comes over and remarks on how earlier that day Olivier knew exactly Francis’ height when prepping him for his work ahead. Francis is amazed at this uncanny talent and challenges his teacher with further spatial queries. Olivier, proceeding with his usual wooden and stern demeanor, guesstimates with x-acto precision the distance of Francis’ foot from his own. It’s a bit of touching male bonding. However, his ability to measure quantifiable things seems useless in this world fraught with the emotionally fragile and unpredictable.
Olivier's concern for the boy is baffling but, over time, one can make the observation that Olivier is simply a moral man, giving care as he believes people should, if not a father with some guilt from his past, and wanting to resume where he once left off.
The Dardenne brothers bother not with lavish production design, ceremonial camera moves or even the requisite device of music, but are interested only in what makes the story function most effectively. Their use of cinéma vérité is perhaps the method’s most profound, yet most fearlessly tortuous. Being throttled behind Olivier’s shoulder for the duration of The Son is like riding a hurtling rollercoaster through most fathers’ worst fears. One could call it the ascetic aesthetic. It’s a style that doesn’t come across as style, but instead as a lack of pleasantries with which much of the Dardennes’ contemporaries adorn their own films. There are abrupt moments when the camera, shakily suspended over Olivier's shoulder, bolts into another direction to capture an incoming dramatic element.
This in your face mise-en-scene can be ominous, heady and at times unsettling, but the conclusion of this story - which is the showdown we could see coming but didn’t want to actually witness - is disarming and revelatory.
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