Complices (2010)
Directed by Frédéric Mermoud

Film Review

With half a dozen short films under his belt, including the César-nominated Rachel (2007), Swiss filmmaker Frédéric Mermoud finally made his feature debut with this compelling and distinctive mix of jeuvenile romance and traditional crime thriller.  Whilst there is a lot in the film that is familiar - comparisons with Tony Scott's True Romance (1993) are easily drawn - there is also plenty of originality, on both the writing and directing fronts, suggesting that Mermoud could well be a name to watch out for in future years.  Significantly, Complices takes us into territory that French filmmakers are strangely reluctant to visit, namely that of male prostitution.  Apart from three notable films, André Téchiné's J'embrasse pas (1991), Michel Blanc's Mauvaise passe (1999) and Josiane Balasko's Cliente (2008), this is an avenue that has seldom been explored in French cinema, or indeed cinema in general.  Here is another taboo/misconception waiting to be overturned...

Complices may be constructed as a classic French polar - the murder of a bisexual teenage boy has to be unravelled, in the slow and tortuous process beloved by crime writers - but what it is really about is the gulf between the generations, between the sexually precocious adolescents who live only for the moment and mature adults who are far more in control of their desires (or at least better at faking it).   By intertwining the two narrative threads, one depicting the police investigation, the other showing the events leading up to the murder, the film effectively contrasts the way in which today's oversexed teenagers and those of their parents' generation live their lives.  The middle-aged cops played by Gilbert Melki and Emmanuelle Devos (an inspired casting choice) resemble an estranged couple who are clearly mutually attracted to one another but are too reserved, or perhaps too scarred by past experiences, to go much beyond their professional relationship.  Set against these two world-weary souls, the youngsters Vincent and Rebecca (played to earthy perfection by Cyril Descours and Nina Meurisse) are positively bursting with vitality and an ardent lust for life.  Mermoud does not invite us to make a moral judgement, he merely wants us to recognise the extent to which we change as we grow older.  No proud nectar quaffing butterfly wants to be reminded that it was once an ugly green creeping thing, salivating lustily on succulent herbage, but the fact remains that we were all pupae at one stage in our lives. 

The subtle difference in tone between the two interlocking narrative threads not only makes it easier for the spectator to follow the film, it also emphasises the difference between how life is experienced by the two generations.  The cold blue-grey palette employed for the Melki-Devos story strand stresses the cautious coolness of the relationship between the two emotionally repressed cops, whilst the more carnal entanglement of Vincent and Rebecca is highlighted by a warmer composition, with a hand-held camera bringing a heightened sense of intimacy.  A lesser filmmaker would doubtless have exploited the young couple's sex scenes for lurid effect, but mercifully Mermoud avoids this pitfall and thereby allows his characters to retain their innocence and therefore our sympathy, even if their moral failings are all too evident.  If we feel any revulsion at all, it is for the well-heeled, well-spoken executive-types who resort to using under-age prostitutes, not the prostitutes themselves.

Whilst the characters are not as well fleshed out as they perhaps might have been (this is the film's one notable shortcoming), they are all authentically portrayed by a quartet of exceptional actors.  Melki and Devos may get top billing, but both are eclipsed by their far less experienced (but just as charismatic) co-stars Cyril Descours and Nina Meurisse, who bring such a blistering naturalism to their scenes that it is impossible to regard this as simply another genre film.  Complices can be enjoyed as a taut little thriller or a tragic romantic drama, but for those looking for a more meaningful cinema experience it also provides a sensitive and intelligent commentary on the gulf between the generations.  Wide as the gap may be, however, it is not unbridgeable, hence the film's ingenious title, the significance of which only becomes apparent in the last few scenes.

Film Synopsis

The body of a teenage boy is fished out of the Rhone near to Lyon.  He is Vincent, 17 years old, and apparently died from strangulation.  Inspector Hervé Cagan and his colleague Karine Mangin begin their investigation into the boy's death and soon find that before he died he had a girlfriend, Rebecca, who has disappeared without trace.  In the caravan where Vincent lived and was apparently murdered, Cagan finds a large quantity of cash.  Whatever difficulties the teenager may have been in, he certainly wasn't hard up...  Two months previously, Vincent is in a Cybercafé when he meets Rebecca, a girl of his own age.  Strongly attracted to one another, they become friends and then embark on an intense love affair.  He claims to be an estate agent, she is studying for her exams.  In fact Vincent is a male prostitute, and has been since he was a small boy.  When Rebecca learns of this she persuades her boyfriend that they should sell sex together.  All is well until one of their clients turns violent...