If there's one thing that Mathieu Kassovitz's black-and-white feature proves,
it's that hate knows no boundaries -- international, racial, or generational.
With a perspective that's part Kids,
part Boyz 'N the Hood, part Scorsese, and part all its own, Hate
offers a raw, powerful look at urban class struggles in and around Paris. If not
for the subtitled French dialogue, this story could just as easily have taken
place in New York, Los Angeles, London, or dozens of other cities.
Hate, which captured three Cesar awards last year, is an angry film
from a passionate young film maker. The narrative is sparse, bordering on
nonexistent, and the trio of main characters aren't the sort of people you'd
want to meet in real life. But Hate never asks its audience to sympathize
with the protagonists, only to understand some of the factors that make them act
as they do. For ninety minutes, they rail against "the system" which has warped
their existence, until the consequences of violence overtake them. You can only
run so far, so fast.
The first of the three principals is Said (Said
Taghmaoui), a French youth of
Arab decent who often represents the voice of reason (such as it is). Next,
there's Vinz (Vincent Cassel), a Jew who sees himself as a thug in the Robert De
Niro mold (he does a pretty good imitation of Taxi
Driver's "You talking to me?" line). The other member of the small group
is Hubert (Hubert Kounde), an African French teen. Hate follows these
characters for twenty-four hours as they meander through Paris' seedier
districts. They have many enemies -- the police, skinheads, and the privileged,
to name a few, and, when Vincent confesses that he has a gun, each of the three
feels a thrill of power. Suddenly, they have the means to strike back, if only
briefly, against the forces that have penned them into their unpromising life.
Rage would be as appropriate a title as Hate, since there are
plenty of both emotions boiling over here. The film's most distinguishing
characteristic, aside from some innovative cinematography, is the ability to
convey naked passion to the audience. Hate's portrayal of today's
generation of frustrated, disillusioned youths understands that violence is a
response to seeming impotence. And, although he doesn't have any answers,
Kassovitz knows all the questions.
In Hate's culture, going to jail is a badge of honor and guns are
viewed with awe (in France, they aren't as readily available as in the United
States). Someone with a gun can make the transition from victim to enforcer --
they are empowered by something more tangible than a fickle badge of authority.
Death doesn't mean much -- it is taken as inevitable, either sooner or later.
The film uses a repeated, and somewhat chilling, metaphor comparing life in
urban France to someone jumping off a skyscraper. All the way down, with each
passing floor, the jumper thinks "So good, so far." Then he hits bottom. In the
end, it's not how far you fall that matters, but how you land. Hate may
portray young men who explode on impact, but the film itself has a solid
touchdown.
From movie-reviews.colossus.net
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