Parky at the Pictures (DVD 4/5/2017)

Wandering the galleries of the Louvre, Napoleon Bonaparte features prominently in Alexander Sokurov's Francofonia, a rivetingly provocative companion piece to his masterpiece, Russian Ark (2002), which not only offers pertinent insights into the relationship between art and power, but also provides a unique analysis of the current state of Europe and its ongoing struggles with migrants, terrorists and the Kremlin. At times resembling one of Peter Greenaway's early avant-garde outings, such as Vertical Features Remake (1978) and The Falls (1980), this audacious, but assured amalgam of archival footage, dramatic reconstruction and philosophical musing may prove a bit daunting. But, while the cascade of intriguing images and ideas requires concentration, it repays careful viewing and demands to be seen again.

While lamenting that Russia no longer has the wisdom of a Tolstoy or a Chekhov to guide it, film-maker Alexander Sokurov tries to make Skype contact with a Dutch sea captain named Dirk. He is carrying artworks in need of restoration, but has run into stormy waters and keeps breaking up as he confides his fears that his cargo might not survive the voyage. As he listens, Sokurov mumbles in voiceover that the tide of history can be equally treacherous and suggests that everyone has an ocean raging inside them.

Sokurov has always been fond of Paris. But even the happiest cities have their grim moments and the City of Light fell into Nazi hands on 14 June 1940. The vast majority of the population had already fled south, so that the streets were deserted when Adolf Hitler made the infamous tour of inspection that culminated in him posing before the Eiffel Tower. Tinkering with the sobering shots of Führer taking in the sights, Sokurov adds a comic voice asking directions to the Louvre. He claims this vast museum is worth more than the rest of France and struggles to imagine Paris without it. But he also has a high regard for the Hermitage in St Petersburg, which was not treated with quite so much reverence when the Wehrmacht besieged Leningrad between September 1941 and January 1944.

According to Sokurov, museums wish to be left in peace to guard their treasures. But he believes they are also showcases for the abuse of power, as so much of what they contain was acquired by conquest and plunder. Yet, he admires the Louvre's collection of paintings and wonders how different European culture might have been if portraiture had not become so popular. Over a montage of faces from the Renaissance onwards, Sokurov demands to know why art is so unwilling to teach us prescience.

Following the German invasion in the spring of 1940, Paris was declared an open city to protect its buildings and infrastructure. The High Command was astonished by the ease of victory and urged the occupying forces to be respectful of the French capital and its citizens. Among those setting the right example was Count Franziskus Wolff-Metternich (Benjamin Utzerath), who was detailed to compile an inventory of major artworks so that the Reich hierarchy could appropriate them. This duty brought Metternich into contact with Louvre director Jacques Jaujard (Louis-Do de Lencquesaing), who had opted to remain in the Nazi sector in order to protect France's enviable heritage from the likes of Joachim von Ribbentrop, Hermann Goering, Joseph Goebbels and Hitler himself.

Both in their mid-forties, Metternich and Jaujard had been called up during the Great War. But, while Metternich had survived action, Jaujard had been invalided out of the French army with tuberculosis before being forced to endure the loss of his father on the Western Front. Despite being on opposite sides for the second time in two decades, the Prussian junker and the bourgeois republican shared a determination to prevent the priceless artefacts coveted by the philistinic inner circle from leaving France. Consequently, as he looks down from his office on to a German mounted band playing in the street below, Jaujard decides to take Metternich into his confidence and reveal that the museum has been emptied of all but its largest statues from Antiquity, with the most precious items being hidden in chateaux across the country.

Sokurov speculates on the mindset of the French who came to terms with surrender so easily and quickly settled into a peaceful co-existence with their conquerors. He also wonders why Germany was so content to occupy the northern half of the country and leave the remainder in the hands of the puppet regime led by the 84 year-old Marshal Philippe Pétain in Vichy. As Sokurov points out, Napoleon III was on the throne when Pétain was born and he expresses disdain for the ease with which he betrayed the principles of the Revolution to spare his homeland from slaughter and decimation. Yet he also ponders whether it was a price worth paying, as although millions became refugees, life went on as much before after the army was disbanded and factories began producing helmets for German rather than French heads.

There were times in Paris when it was difficult to believe that war was raging elsewhere on the planet. But, as he contemplates the dousing of the spirit of French resistance, Sokurov is interrupted by a message from Captain Dirk, whose face keeps turning into a pixellated chessboard, as the signal shifts. Sokurov advises him to jettison the cargo to lighten his load and distracts himself with the thought that the sea had played its part in bringing items like a giant Assyrian statue from 700 BC to the Louvre. This intricately carved lamassu was commissioned to inspire fear of royal power and Sokurov claims that art and architecture have long been used to cower populations into obedience and it's tempting to speculate on the reasons for ISIL's destruction of sites in Iraq and Syria and the ransacking of Egyptian museums during the Arab Spring. But, in drawing our attention to the fact that some cultures set little store by the preservation of the past, Sokurov also notes that untold treasures were lost at sea (along with many lives) and that we will never know what remarkable relics rest on the bed of the Mediterranean.

In order to accommodate its new artefacts, the Louvre was expanded and the allegorical goddess Marianne (Johanna Korthals Altes) is shown riding a buggy through a network of underground corridors spouting the revolutionary credo, `liberty, fraternity and equality'. According to Sokurov, the hand is smarter than the brain, as it creates more quickly and he uses a 9000 year-old sculpture found in Jordan in 1972 to support his contention. He wonders what architect Pierre Lescot would have made of this amazing find and shows us the Henri II staircase that Lescot designed in 1553, as well as his drawings for a new façade. Clearly an admirer, Sokurov urges modern architects to be as polymathic and sensitive to environment as this priest, mathematician and painter.

At this moment, however, Napoleon Bonaparte (Vincent Nemeth) hoves into sight and proudly announces that the Louvre would be nothing without him bringing capturing items like the statue of Seneca. He insists that Parisians should be grateful to him, as he waged war to help civilise the nation, while also having the good sense to employ experts to advise him on what to leave behind. Yet, while conflict enriched France in many ways, Jaujard and Metternich were keen to prevent it being impoverished by conquest. Having visited Paris before the war and having supervised the evacuation of Cologne Cathedral in the late 1930s, Metternich is deemed worthy of a visit to the Château de Sourches, where so many Louvre treasures were stored for safe keeping.

Over footage of the Louvre clearance, Jaujard feels a pang of guilt at collaborating with both Metternich and Pétain. But, as he shrugs in the direction of Leonardo Da Vinci's `St John the Baptist' (1513-16), he suspects that he is taking the most pragmatic approach to an insurmountable problem. The noise of the workmen disturbs Napoleon, who peers through a door as the 2nd century Winged Victory of Samothrace is wheeled away on a trolley. Sokurov tells him to stop fussing, as this was added to the collection long after his death.

Up on the roof, Sokurov provides a 360° panoramic view of Paris and explains that the Louvre site was first occupied as it offered sanctuary from marauding Vikings. A fortress castle was built in the 12th century and drawings are laid over an image of the one square kilometre area to show how it developed under successive monarchs. Much changed after the Revolution, however, and it was Napoleon who converted the buildings into a museum. He drags Marianne through the galleries and shows her an equestrian portrait, while boasting, `That's me!'

Jaujard presents paintings of the Louvre from 1666 and 1789 and reveals that Napoleon relied heavily on director-cum-artist Hubert Robert, who was responsible for the construction of the magnificent Grand Gallery. Similarly, Napoleon III entrusted the square hall and the Apollo Gallery to Louis Visconti and Sokurov explains over Robert paintings from 1880 that the Louvre helped set artistic tastes and trends during this period. Indeed, it became a temple of art that frequently became the subject of pictures like the 1885 view of the sphinx in the Egyptian Hall and the 1894 image of two women restoring a Botticelli fresco. Napoleon has no time for the fact that the Louvre contains many pictures of women painting and urges us to gaze instead upon Iacques-Louis David's 1807 record of his coronation as emperor. He is unnerved, however, by the sight of so many Prussians in the museum and Sokurov descends to the foyer, where Metternich is making a speech at the grand re-opening of the Louvre to the public. As he refers to the Hague convention on the conduct of war and occupation, Sokurov commends France on having such a reasonable neighbour, as the same courtesies were not extended to the Soviet Union after Hitler invaded in 1941.

He concludes that the Germans unleashed their full fury on the Bolsheviks because they hated their ideology and because they had the temerity to resist. Fortunately, the curators at the Hermitage had removed their most important objects, as the museum had its purpose transformed during a siege that saw thousands tossed into mass graves and corpses being cannibalised by the starving citizens. Watching footage of the rearguard, Sokurov wishes he could forget what he has witnessed. But, despite Europe having produced so many fine minds down the centuries, its nations have always succumbed to ambition and hatred and conquest and destruction. Consequently, while Marianne can proclaim her litany, Bonaparte can also point at `Mona Lisa' (which he stole in 1797) and declare `that's me!' and claim with some justification that France (and the Louvre) would be nothing without him.

However, it was not a warrior, but a refined aristocrat who protected the museum and Sokurov returns to his address and his intention to restore a semblance of normality to everyday Parisian life by bringing the Louvre back to life. Indeed, Metternich's Kunstschutz programme did much to preserve and repair artworks in France, Belgium, Italy, Greece and Serbia. He also issued a letter to all occupying troops exhorting them to treat the chateaux, townhouses, hotels and castles where they were billeted with the same respect he hoped they would extend to his home, the Palace of Gracht.

During his visit to Sourches, Metternich was filled with a sense of awe and familiarity, as he was shown around by a Louvre functionary who seems to miss the irony of the fact a wall had to be demolished in order to store some of the larger items. They pause to look at Théodore Gericault's `The Raft of the Medusa' (1818), as it leans against a corridor wall. Sokurov considers its allegorical meaning, while reflecting upon the loss of so many artefacts in waters that are now claiming the lives of countless migrants seeking a new life in Europe.

The bitter reality that inanimates are more welcome than human beings is not lost on Sokurov, as Captain Dirk reports on the state of the sea from his lurching ship. But Metternich had choppy waters of his own to navigate, as he had to keep devising bureaucratic snafus to frustrate Nazi grandees eager to redecorate their homes and offices. Moreover, he also colluded with Jaujard in securing the release of prisoners who had not fallen into the hands of the Gestapo. They are shown meeting in a playground full of children and drinking in a café, as Jaujard pleads for museum colleagues with Maquis connections.

As they leave, Sokurov asks if he can have a moment of their time. They nod and sit on wooden chairs in an anteroom. He praises Jaujard for continuing to curate exhibitions during the remainder of the war and even purchase some new acquisitions. Shortly after the Liberation in the summer of 1944, De Gaulle will reward him for his efforts at the Louvre and with the Resistance by making him Director of the Department of Arts and Literature. A further promotion will come in 1959, when he is appointed Head of the Ministry of Culture. However, his son with third wife Jeanne Boitel (an actress and Maquis heroine) will despise him and, despite receiving the Legion of Honour twice, he will be mysteriously removed from office in 1967. The disappointment will kill him, while his reputation will be posthumously damaged by the destruction of documents and photographs testifying to his achievements.

Jaujard looks up mournfully as Sokurov reveals that he could not find a single soul who had known him personally. But, as Jaujard asks about the fate of the Louvre, Sokurov turns to Metternich. He will be recalled to Berlin in 1942 to explain the delays in exporting masterworks, but he will survive the war and Jaujard will prove so helpful with his denazification that Metternich will also be awarded the Legion of Honour. In his later years, he will work in Rome and travel extensively before dying at the age of 85 in May 1978. As Metternich takes in the information, Jaujard tuts that Sokurov is raving and stalks away. The German lingers for a moment before following and the screen falls dark to the accompaniment of a discordant version of the Soviet national anthem.

We never learn what happens to Captain Dirk and his cargo (although the evidence suggests it sinks) or why the scenes involving Jaujard and Metternich have a visible audio track running down the left-hand side of the Academy frame. But Sokurov is entitled to his narrative and stylistic secrets at the end of a film so full of innovation, ingenuity and intrigue. Indeed, they enhance it and distinguish it from the many recent documentaries about great museums - although it must be said that it shares the odd reconstructive trait with Margy Kinmonth's Hermitage Revealed (2014).

Sokurov's themes are much more complex, however, as he laments humanity's inability to learn the lessons of history and the ease with which the masses can be seduced by charismatic leaders or doctrines that reinforce their own prejudices and fears. The contrast between Napoleon and ISIL by-passes the linking collapse of the Ottoman Empire, but the point is well made, as is comparison between Bonaparte and Metternich (which is made all the more ironic by the fact that the former saw his empire broken up by an Austrian chancellor of the latter name through the terms of the Treaty of Vienna in 1815, which stored up as many problems for future generations as the Treaty of Versailles a century later).

The linking through Gericault of the vessels carrying artworks and migrants is equally astute. But Sokurov also has a hidden agenda, as he slips in stinging criticism of Vladimir Putin's persistent interference in the affairs of neighbours anxious not to become part of a new Soviet Union. And, with Europe in the process of fragmenting, who would be able to stop him, as he seems more preoccupied with seizing territory and influence than museum exhibits?

Ably served by his small cast, as well as by cinematographer Bruno Delbonnel (who gives the Occupation scenes a silver nitrate sheen), editors Alexei Jankowski and Hansjörg Weissbrich, and composer Murat Kabardokov, Sokurov aims for intimacy rather than the majestic sweep of Russian Ark. But there's nothing narrow about his focus on Europe's feckless failure to heed the warnings contained in paintings produced over the last millennium or the cautious note he sounds about the danger of glossing over the suffering of previous generations, as otherwise, 200 years from now, Hitler may become as much a shriven hero as Napoleon is now.

Lightening the mood is Eva Husson feature bow, Bang Gang (A Modern Love Story). Having impressed with the shorts Hope to Die (2004) and Those For Whom It's Always Complicated (2013), Husson makes a solid start with this modish dissertation on adolescent social and sexual rituals that is teasingly based on undisclosed true-life events. Dedicated to `Men who love strong women. Thanks for helping me become one,' this is mercifully free of the prurience that made Larry Clark's Kids (1995) so discomfiting. But it lacks the psychological insight that Eric Rohmer and André Téchiné once brought to their studies of chattering youths and seemingly caused less of a stir in its native France than Delphine and Muriel Coulin's 17 Girls (2011) and Hélène Zimmer's Being 14 (2015).

As a naked figure scuttles across a well-manicured Biarritz lawn, the action flashes back a few weeks, as Finnegan Oldfield becomes accustomed to the freedom he has been granted by his parents decamping to Morocco for nine months. He invites red-haired buddy Fred Hotier to the house to enjoy the pool and the sunshine that is going to develop into such a fierce heatwave that trains will go off the rails for no apparent reason. However, Oldfield has designs on classmates Marilyn Lima and Daisy Broom and urges them to come for a sleepover.

Being dashing and dastardly, Oldfield lures the smitten Lima into bed. But Broom rejects Hotier's puppyish advances and is pleasantly surprised when Oldfield starts flirting with her. Although put out by his sudden aloofness, Lima invests time in next-door neighbour Lorenzo Lefebvre, a bashful, aspiring musician who lets off steam by dancing furiously at intimate house parties. However, Lima is so miffed when Oldfield takes Broom's virginity that she ups the ante at the next gathering by declaring games of Spin the Bottle and Truth or Dare to be infantile and suggesting that everyone indulges in an orgy.

Before anyone can say `It's now or never,' Oldfield's swinging sessions become the talk of the spa and guests are forever checking their phones for the telltale texts that secure their invitation. As Lima is no longer speaking to Broom, she seizes the opportunity to wreak a little revenge by bedding the naive Lefebvre. However, she is primarily concerned with snaring Oldfield and throws herself into cavorting with anyone in trousers in the hope of making him jealous.

In fact, he finds the whole charade enormously entertaining and has no compunction in posting compromising footage of Lima on a porn website. Lefebvre feels sorry for her, however, and cajoles Oldfield and Hotier into taking it down. But, while this incident embarrasses Lima, it is the sudden outbreak of STDs among the revellers that puts a stop to the orgies that Oldfield opines in voiceover have helped them all mature by indulging the urges their libertarian parents have taught them to embrace.

Indeed, even though everyone at school has to be screened for syphilis, none of the kids seems to be admonished, let alone punished by their folks. Unaware that Broom is pregnant, Oldfield leaves for North Africa, while she endures the misery of an abortion. But there is a happy ending of sorts, as Lima is so grateful to Lefebvre for getting her videos removed that they become an item. Imagine Made in Chelsea being relocated to the Bay of Biscay and being directed by Sofia Coppola and you would have a fair idea of this celebration of youth, wealth and beauty. Husson keeps Mattias Troelstrup's camera focused firmly on the toned white flesh of the boys and girls alike, but commits her only error of judgement in having the characters periodically breach the fourth wall to share knowing looks with the audience. But, while she makes acute use of the chic locations and demonstrates a solid understanding of the juvenile mindset in relation to its willingness to share every aspects of their lives on social media, Husson lacks the storytelling fluency of a Mia Hansen-Løve. It doesn't necessarily matter that the narrative perspective shifts around, but the tonal inconsistency is more problematic (even though it could be argued that this approximates the puerility of teenagers being swept along by events they cannot control). She coaxes admirably natural performances out of her young cast, however, with Oldfield bristling with a testosterone-fuelled cockiness that is neatly contrasted with Lefebvre's boyish taciturnity. Broom and Lima also do well as girls unafraid of exploring their desires. However, Broom has a more conventional role than the scheming Lima, who shakes up the group by shaming her peers into discarding their kiss`n'giggle games and getting down and dirty to the grinding electronica score provided by Los Angelinos White Sea. Adolescence has come a long way since Mickey Rooney headlined the last original entry in MGM's splendid series, Love Laughs At Andy Hardy (1946). But such is the impact of readily accessible online pornography and the shamelessness of sexting culture that modern audiences can seemingly no longer be shocked by youthful promiscuity in the way they were just 21 years ago with Kids.

The principals are a little younger in Rudi Rosenberg's debut, The New Kid, which builds on his 2009 short, Aglaée, which focused on Géraldine Martineau, a young girl whose physical disability gives her a keener insight into human nature than her peers. However, the emphasis shifts here on to Réphaël Ghrenassia, a confident 13 year-old who enrols in a Left Bank middle school shortly after his parents relocate to Paris from Le Havre. But, while Ghrenassia was popular at his old school, he has to start from scratch and decides to take slacker uncle Max Boublil's advice and hang out with those willing to accept him for himself.

Unfortunately, Guillaume Cloud Roussel and Joshua Raccah are something of a laughing stock. With his specs and braces, Roussel seems old before his time, especially as he is keen to set up a choir so everyone can appreciate the true meaning of harmony. The scruffily tubby Raccah, on the other hand, is so immature that he is forever irritating the other pupils with his crass practical jokes. Initially, Ghrenassia thinks he would rather be locking horns with cool kid supremo Eytan Chiche, who appears to have a head start in impressing Swedish newcomer, Johanna Lindstedt. But he soon comes to realise that there is more to life than looks and status.

Realising that his nephew is struggling to fit in, Boublil suggests that he hosts a party while his parents are away for the weekend. Plucking up his courage, Ghrenassia makes the announcement on the school bus and is crushed when Lindstedt (who has given him a Swedish pop record to seal their friendship) declines because she is going away with her parents. When only Roussel, Raccah and Martineau show up, Ghrenassia feels like an outcast. But Boublil teaches them some comebacks to counter Chiche and his bullies. He also gets them dancing and they have a wonderful night.

Keen to add Lindstedt to his group, Ghrenassia follows Boublil's plan to make her jealous by asking Raccah's older sister Jeni Radu to accompany them on a trip to the pictures. She flirst with Ghrenassia and Lindsredt seems put out. But she meets another classmate in the foyer and wanders off with him, leaving Ghrenassia feeling crushed. Meanwhile, Martineau has asked Roussel to kiss her so she can catch his throat infection to miss school (but he is too naive to appreciate her real motive).

Despite having found his niche, Ghrenassia retains his hopes of being accepted by the in-crowd and gives Raccah the slip to attend a party thrown by mean girl, Iléana Courbey. But Raccah is determined to gatecrash the event after taunting Chiche in the corridor about his own exclusion and he is dismayed to find Ghrenassia inside. He fibs about being let off babysitting his brother and tries to give Raccah the slip. But they wind up alone in the kitchen together after Raccah disgraces himself by pushing Courbey's younger sister's face into the birthday cake (a coping strategy picked up from Boublil). They get tipsy on alcohol-free peer and put condoms on their heads, as well as Courbey's chihuahua and get themselves thrown out.

Still hankering after Lindstedt (who can't understand why he is being so stand-offish), Ghrenassia gets Radu to make an anonymous phone call and inform her that someone in her class is in love with her. She guesses it's Ghrenassia and tries to let him down gently by insisting she only wants to be friends, as she isn't ready to date. Despite the fact she soon has a boyfriend, Ghrenassia has decided to stick with his new pals and happily sings along with Roussel's enthusiastic, but decidedly atonal choir.

Full of funny and sometimes painfully true set-pieces and admirably played by the young ensemble, this owes more to Scandinavian than Hollywood kidpix, with the emphasis being more on character than plot. Roussel and Raccah make splendid sidekicks, while Lindstedt and Martineau provide contrasting perspectives on the difficulty of being accepted for who you are rather than what you look like. There are moments when Ghrenassia risks losing the audience's sympathy, as he seeks to use the outsiders to get in with the cool kids. But Rosenberg gently prods him in the right direction and few would object if this charming band of misfits returned for a second outing.

This may not be the most original scenario, but Rosenberg coaxes winningly spontaneous performances out of his non-professional cast. Onetime Quebécois documentarist Philippe Lesage similarly does a good job with his younger protagonist The Demons, an unsettling examination of childhood fears and thought processes that seemingly draws on the sophomore's own youth in harking back to a 1980s without a World Wide Web to exacerbate or assuage juvenile misconceptions. Owing much to the sombre observational relentlessness of Michael Haneke, this also contains echoes of classic Carlos Saura and Victor Erice studies of how pre-adolescents perceive the grown-up world and its attendant terrors.

Ten year-old Édouard Tremblay-Grenier seems happy enough at his Montreal school, where he has developed a crush on PE teacher Victoria Diamond. But, while he enjoys the company of doting older siblings Vassili Schneider and Sarah Mottet, he is concerned about the state of parents Laurent Lucas and Pascale Bussières's marriage. His anxiety increases after he sees Lucas being overly friendly with Bénédicte Décary, the mother of best friend Yannick Gobeil-Dugas. But a blazing row that keeps the children scuttling out of the firing line traumatises Tremblay-Grenier, just as he convinces himself he has contracted AIDS after a chaste game of mothers and fathers with Gobeil-Dugas. He takes out his frustration on classmate Alfred Poirier by shoving him in a locker at the swimming pool. However, his sense of unease grows as news spreads of a spate of kidnappings and Tremblay-Grenier is forced to reassess his relationship with swimming coach Pier-Luc Funk, whose relationship with lifeguard Rose-Marie Perreault is transformed after he takes young Mathis Thomas to the funfair and on a treasure hunt near a castle in the woods.

Some may be put off by the abrupt tonal shift half way through this thoughtful treatise on irrationality and the debasement of innocence. The growing reliance on lengthy scenes photographed with a largely static camera also takes some getting used to. But Lesage (who cameos as a disabled teacher) makes adroit use of Nicolas Canniccioni's camerawork and the Pye Corner Audio synthiser score to gauge the dislocated Tremblay-Grenier's psyche and perspective. Many, however, will leaves with the strains of the 1967 Miriam Makeba hit, `Pata Pata', running through their minds.

Despite its title, Léa Fehner's Ogres is a character drama rather than a chiller. It draws heavily on her own experiences with the family theatre troupe in the 1990s and it is apt that she has found roles for her father, mother and sister in a picture that has also been edited by her husband, Julien Chigot. Scripted by Fehner, Brigitte Sy and Catherine Paille (who co-wrote the director's acclaimed 2009 debut, Silent Voice), this befittingly episodic picaresque conveys the collaborative essence of a touring company and benefits greatly from the well-cast ensemble and Julien Poupard's atmospheric widescreen imagery that captures sweeping vistas and intimate details with equal deftness.

There isn't much story in the conventional sense, as the Théâtre Davai takes to the road for a summer season of Anton Chekhov's The Bear in the provinces. Led by François (François Fehner) and his wife, Marion (Marion Bouvarel), the party relies heavily on Inès (Inès Fehner) to cope with bookings and the logistical side of keeping the tented show heading in the right direction. François was once close to Deloyal (Marc Barbé), the master of ceremonies. But they fell out over a personal tragedy and Deloyal almost causes another calamity when acrobat Gisèle (Eva Ordoñez-Benedetto) is badly injured when he lets go of a safety rope. But Marion suspects François's motives when he hired onetime Spanish mistress Lola (Lola Dueñas) in her place and gets her revenge in first by sleeping with one of her workmates (Patrick d'Assumçao), much to the amusement of the equally rakish Deloyal, whose struggle to remain faithful to his pregnant tomboy partner, Mona (Adèle Haenel), drives her into the arms of a sympathetic teenager (Anthony Bajon).

Full of minor, but authentic ringing incidents (many of them involving the many impish children milling around the camp and the big top), this is often brings to mind James Ivory's The Shakespeare Wallah (1965), which was based on the Indian adventures of Geoffrey Kendal and his daughters, Felicity and Jennifer. The performances are nicely judged, with Haenel impressing as she tries to cope with the hard-drinking Barbé's ceaseless arrogance and periodic cruelty. However, he steals the show with a sequence of speeches that cause the troupe untold trouble. Firstly, he offers some visiting schoolchildren a graphic description of the act of sodomy before he uses some toys to tell the travelling kids about the role that François Fehner played in the loss of his own son. Barbé also has a caustic encounter with Bajon after he catches him in flagrante with Haenel and a deeply moving reunion with his ex-wife, Marie (Mélanie Leray), who keeps having visions of their lost child.

While Fehner opts for a light touch, Valérie Donzelli makes a much firmer imprint on Marguerite et Julien, which is based on the story of the Ravalet siblings, who were executed for incest in 1603. In the early 1970s, Jean Gruault produced the screenplay Julien et Marguerite for François Truffaut. But the picture was never made and the saga became associated in most French minds with the Florentine quartet published between 1988-90 by Juliette Benzoni. These were serialised on television in 1991 and Donzelli and longtime collaborator (and former partner) Jérémie Elkaim have gone out of their way give events a radical revision by having them related as a sort of fairytale by Esther Garrel, a supervisor at an orphanage who seems to have a questionable grasp on what is suitable reading material for impressionable young minds.

Raised in an unspecified time by their parents Jean (Fréderic Pierrot), and Madeleine (Aurelia Petit) as part of a large family on their estate in Tourlaville, Julien (Jérémie Elkaim) and Marguerite de Ravalet (Anaïs Demoustier) are so close as children that their uncle, the Abbé de Hambye (Sami Frey), orders Julien to be sent to boarding school with his older brother, Philippe (Bastien Bouillon). On his return, however, Julien is rapturously welcomed by his sister, who has caused a scandal in his absence by refusing the proposals of eligible suitors from across Normandy.

The latest to plight his troth is the war-wounded Marigny (Maxim Dambrin), who is invited to dine at the chateau with his parents. During the meal, however, Julien leaves the table in distress at seeing his sister chatting to Marigny and she follows to reassure him of her fidelity. Alone in an attic room, they start to play a game of sensual teasing that is broken up before they are discovered by governess Jacqueline (Catherine Mouchet) rushing to warn them.

Nevetheless, Jean realises that the pair need to be parted and marries Marguerite to Lefebvre (Raoul Fernandez), a grasping tax collector under the thumb of his domineering mother (Geraldine Chaplin). When Marguerite refuses to consummate the match and enlists Jacqueline to smuggle messages to her brother, Lefebvre turns to drink and loose women. Yet, such is his sense of propriety that when Julien comes to rescue his sister from her miserable existence, Lefebvre shoots Jacqueline dead and charges the fugitives with unnatural acts.

As wanted posters go up across France, Madeleine helps her offspring escape and they head for the coast. When Marguerite discovers she is pregnant, Julien decides they should sail to England and set up home under false names. They reach Barfleur and find a skipper who is willing to take them across the Channel. But the lovers are recognised and Lefebvre offers to drop the charge of incest if Marguerite returns home. She refuses and tries to convince the authorities that she duped Julien into seducing her. Desperate to save the pair, Jean seeks an audience with the king (André Marcon), but such is his shaky grasp on power that he merely commutes their sentence to beheading rather than being burnt at the stake.

Having made such an impressive transition from actress to director with The Queen of Hearts (2009), Declaration of War (2010) or Hand in Hand (2012), Donzelli rather misses her step with this historical hotchpotch. Even though her intimate relationship with Elkaim had long been over, it can't have been easy to watch him fall in love with Demoustier during the course of the production. But her direction is so overstatedly self-conscious that one spends more time wondering how differently Truffaut would have done things than pondering the plight of the lustful leads. Elkaim and Demoustier certainly have a spark, but they are often required to play to the rear stalls and fight against the more eclectic musical choices on the soundtrack. Manu de Chauvigny's production design similarly revels in its anachronisms, as do Elisabeth Mehu's costumes. Moreover, the experiment of having Céline Bozon shoot interiors on film and the exteriors in digital doesn't quite come off. Yet, Donzelli makes bold use of mannequin challenge-like openings to certain scenes, as well as such dated scene transition devices as the iris. Thus, for all its stylistic stratagems, this is staged with such a blithe sense of assurance that it might just acquire a cult following.

Clashing cultures are also to the fore in Emmanuel Finkiel's A Decent Man, a supposedly fact-based study of working-class resentment that offers a timely insight into the French mindset ahead of this year's presidential election. Having assisted Krzysztof Kieslowski on the Colours trilogy (1993-94), Finkiel has only produced three features in nearly two decades: Voyages (1999), From Monday to Wednesday (2000) and Nowhere Promised Land (2008). But, with its explosive climactic depiction of shocking violence, this long-gestating drama reveals him to be a thoughtful commentator on the simmering domestic scene.

Thirtysomething Nicolas Duvauchelle is struggling to make ends meet and has taken to drinking since separating from Mélanie Thierry, the mother of his adored son, Johann Soule. Despite numerous applications and going on training courses, Duvauchelle is unable to find a job and, such is his low sense of self-esteem that he decides to stop some kids from stealing a car radio in order to impress a casual date. Unfortunately, during the ensuing scuffle, he is stabbed with a screwdriver and is encouraged by police officers with little love for the city's immigrant communities to blame an Arab for the crime.

As Duvauchelle had overheard a first name during the assault, the cops arrest everyone of that name during a banelieue blitz and he is coaxed into identifying Driss Ramdi as the culprit, even though he has remembered his face from a sales training video rather than the stabbing. Enjoying the attention and delighted to find Thierry at his hospital bedside, Duvauchelle sticks to his story, even though it is as deeply flawed as he is. But, with Soule regarding him as a superhero and Thierry suggesting that they give their romance another try, Duvauchelle is happy to ignore his conscience, especially after he is offered a warehouse job by Homea furniture store boss Nicolas Bridet, who has designs on Thierry.

While exposing the institutionalised racism of the French law enforcement system, this is primarily an unflinching examination of the seething resentment against outsiders felt by a growing number of proletarian white males with little education, few prospects and even less hope. Sadly, similar films could be made across the continent and, making solid use of Alexis Kavyrchine's edgy images of a claustrophobically insular estate, Finkiel adroitly emphasises the sense of grievance and entitlement that many adopted in playing the victim of an uncaring society. Duvauchelle impresses as the everyman whose propriety masks the cowardice, bigotry and brutality that emerges when his back is to the wall, Acclimatisation is also the theme of Danielle Arbid's Parisienne, a semi-autobiographical tale that marks a return to features after the promising start made with Étrangère (2002), In the Battlefields (2004) and A Lost Man (2007). Set in 1993 and co-written by Julie Peyr, this is a deeply personal rumination on the migrant experience and the French values that make it such a popular destination for those seeking to start afresh in a place where education, opportunity and diversity matter as much as liberty, equality and fraternity.

Arriving in Paris from Beirut to stay with aunt Darina Al Joundi and uncle Waleed Zuaiter, 18 year-old Manal Issa soon finds herself needing new digs after the latter makes unwanted advances. She throws herself on the mercy of classmate Clara Ponsot, who not only lets her stay in her flat, but also persuades older sister Mathilde Bisson to find her a tele-marketing job at the estate agency where she works. However, Issa is forced to move into a hostel after Bisson accuses her of stealing a commission. She is also dumped by Paul Hamy, a smooth-talking business man, who uses his wealth to assuage her doubts about him being married.

Fortunately, Issa bluffs her way into an art history course run by sympathetic academic Dominique Blanc, who offers advice while Issa tries to negotiate the snag-filled immigration process to secure a residency permit. She also forges an unlikely friendship with India Hair, an arch Royalist whose skinhead boyfriend Bastien Bouillon thinks that all foreigners should be deported. They find her a cramped flat and she starts dating waiter Damien Chapelle, whom she first met while absconding from his café without paying for her cappuccino. He has hopes of becoming a musician in the United States and Issa is distraught to discover he has vanished after she returns from a flying visit to Lebanon to see her dying father.

Depressed at receiving a deportation order, Issa asks Blanc for help and she puts her in touch with lawyer Alain Libot. Ironically, his son is Vincent Lacoste, who had denounced her for her friendship with Hair and Bouillon. He runs a Communist newspaper with Anne-Clotilde Rampon, who is far from impressed when Lacoste and Issa start dating. They become closer after fending off neo-Nazis during a raid on their premises and Libot and wife Michele Sigal take such a shine to Issa that he agrees to defend her in court. While waiting for the verdicts, Eastern European sculptress Elina Löwensohn wishes Issa well, as she faces deportation to a homeland where she has rarely known peace. Issa feels sorry for her when her appeal is rejected, but breaks into a freeze-framed smile as the sardonic Vincent Courcelle-Labrousse rules in her favour.

Given the lurch to the right that has benefited the Front National, there is a danger that this might seem a little quaint and antiquated in comparison. Issa is certainly not a boat person having to risk all (including her dignity and morality), while her travails with the bureaucrats intent on blocking off easy avenues seem almost playfully satirical. But Arbid is not wallowing in rose-tinted nostalgia in poking fun at characteristic national traits and administrative idiosyncrasies, as she detects the roots of the current shift to the right. Moreover, she is intent on showing that not every young woman from a post-colonial background is a helpless ingénue at the mercy of every rapacious chauvinist or fascistic bigot.

Photographed with immediacy, vibrancy and tact by Hélène Louvart, this is a lively account of a stranger in paradise (albeit one that can seem ugly at times). But Arbid also includes moments of poignancy, such as Issa's return to Lebanon in time to see the father who commits suicide rather than put his feuding family through more suffering. The storyline is a touch formulaic in places, but Blanc, Hamy and Lacoste provide admirable support to the debuting Issa, who manages to seem possessed and vulnerable without resorting to coy caricature.