At the core of My Uncle Antoine is a coming-of-age story about a young Quebecan boy helping out his family with the store on Christmas Eve. But it is also rooted within the historical context of the Grande Noirceur, or The Great Darkness, a period of social unrest within the French Canadian province post World War 2 under the reign of the fiercely conservative Maurice Duplessis. For residents who have experienced this it rings true - the push of residents towards rural, menial occupations, the privilege and devotion afforded to the powerful Catholic church, the utter futility of worker strikes, and the opposition towards unions. Bathroom graffiti hastily scribbled seems to recognise the discontent with the political regime. Indeed, the asbestos mine is photographed in such a way that it envelopes and suffocates the small town like a great grey shroud, in a similar manner to how the lives of the low class Quebecans are subjugated and held in place by systems beyond their control. A miner's story, which bookends the film, tells of his singular attempt to quit his job and leave for a better existence as a logger. Suffice to say, it is an unsuccessful one.
As switch over to the main storyline it takes on the boyish excitement of Benoit, who is helping his uncle and aunt set up the Christmas display for their general store. It is the mark of a small town that it is the show-piece that all the residents look forward to each year, and there is a little mock unveiling that takes place. When a shy young girl announces her engagement, the whole town cheers and ruffles the hair of the young groom-to-be and drinks to the happy couple. And they are all intimately familiar with the singing voice of aunt Cecile and how she acts as the serenader for all the big events. This warm family is also accompanied by a lively score that seems whipped up from the young, excited mind of Benoit himself; a fast-paced, melodic violin piece that is fit for a jig but which shows the whole town coming together for a snowball fight. Isn't Christmas the most lovely time of the year?
The film is slow paced - it unveils these aspects of the community, along with oddities that Benoit is accustomed to. His uncle Antoine is also the town undertaker, and as such coffins line the walls and floors of the second floor; but this is initially just a playground for the young boy, a perfect moment of blossoming sexuality where he and Carmen have the urges, but not the knowledge or maturity to proceed (you'll notice how they almost immediately make up afterwards). There is that dreary sequence where the mine-owner tosses his yearly 'bonuses' at each house; even without showing their contents they look practically empty. The youth and kids excitedly fight and grab at the stockings while the parents and elderly watch glumly, as they have been through this many times and are wise not to get their hopes up. And Benoit and his friend sit somewhere in the middle; they aren't swayed by the stockings, but pelt the owner's horse with snowballs, perhaps not quite old enough to lose those wide grins on their faces.
Even as his uncle is called out for a grim job on Christmas Eve to collect a corpse he still has that big grin on his face; he begs to go as if he was running out the door with his friends, and the lively score once again characterises his excitement and joy. But then he is silent as they approach the tragedy-stricken family. He sits while they quietly eat the lavish dinner the mother has prepared, as if they were just visitors, and is stoic as the children enjoy the gift of candy, which is given a similar treatment as the stockings beforehand. Could he have suddenly realised the gravity of the situation in a way that the grinning teenager earlier could not? Brault's camera first and foremost shows its passion through its quick, frantic zooms - and there is not one more important than the reveal of the dead boy, scarcely older than Benoit himself, a frozen, lifeless mirror-image of himself. It is in that moment we know that his grin will never be as wide, his playfulness never as naive or mindless.
What follows after is just a brutal reaffirmation of the fact. In a heartbreaking monologue, Antoine spills out a confession that is not only intensely personal but reflects the social context of the period and the suffocation of the political regime. We see Benoit's new look, his stony-faced stare boring into the heart of Cecile who knows that she has been caught out, but does not immediately recognise this Benoit. And in that final, haunting POV shot, a new consciousness behind the camera, as if he is seeing for this first time, not just looking. The mastery of My Uncle Antoine is that is is so tragic because it invests so much into the small Quebecan town, and the intricate, painful details. This elevates the emotional trauma to new levels. See the tenderness of a final sexual embrace between Jos and Madame Pouline, and how they come together in the barn. See how the exact same treatment is applied to aunt Cecile's affair; not with the usual aggressive lust, but with an air of sweetness in how Fernand stares at her and tentatively compliments her dress. Spare a though for Carmen, who think she is old enough to be wearing lipstick, before hastily washing it off when Benoit teases her about it. In her father's eyes, she is less a daughter and more a worker.
As switch over to the main storyline it takes on the boyish excitement of Benoit, who is helping his uncle and aunt set up the Christmas display for their general store. It is the mark of a small town that it is the show-piece that all the residents look forward to each year, and there is a little mock unveiling that takes place. When a shy young girl announces her engagement, the whole town cheers and ruffles the hair of the young groom-to-be and drinks to the happy couple. And they are all intimately familiar with the singing voice of aunt Cecile and how she acts as the serenader for all the big events. This warm family is also accompanied by a lively score that seems whipped up from the young, excited mind of Benoit himself; a fast-paced, melodic violin piece that is fit for a jig but which shows the whole town coming together for a snowball fight. Isn't Christmas the most lovely time of the year?
The film is slow paced - it unveils these aspects of the community, along with oddities that Benoit is accustomed to. His uncle Antoine is also the town undertaker, and as such coffins line the walls and floors of the second floor; but this is initially just a playground for the young boy, a perfect moment of blossoming sexuality where he and Carmen have the urges, but not the knowledge or maturity to proceed (you'll notice how they almost immediately make up afterwards). There is that dreary sequence where the mine-owner tosses his yearly 'bonuses' at each house; even without showing their contents they look practically empty. The youth and kids excitedly fight and grab at the stockings while the parents and elderly watch glumly, as they have been through this many times and are wise not to get their hopes up. And Benoit and his friend sit somewhere in the middle; they aren't swayed by the stockings, but pelt the owner's horse with snowballs, perhaps not quite old enough to lose those wide grins on their faces.
Even as his uncle is called out for a grim job on Christmas Eve to collect a corpse he still has that big grin on his face; he begs to go as if he was running out the door with his friends, and the lively score once again characterises his excitement and joy. But then he is silent as they approach the tragedy-stricken family. He sits while they quietly eat the lavish dinner the mother has prepared, as if they were just visitors, and is stoic as the children enjoy the gift of candy, which is given a similar treatment as the stockings beforehand. Could he have suddenly realised the gravity of the situation in a way that the grinning teenager earlier could not? Brault's camera first and foremost shows its passion through its quick, frantic zooms - and there is not one more important than the reveal of the dead boy, scarcely older than Benoit himself, a frozen, lifeless mirror-image of himself. It is in that moment we know that his grin will never be as wide, his playfulness never as naive or mindless.
What follows after is just a brutal reaffirmation of the fact. In a heartbreaking monologue, Antoine spills out a confession that is not only intensely personal but reflects the social context of the period and the suffocation of the political regime. We see Benoit's new look, his stony-faced stare boring into the heart of Cecile who knows that she has been caught out, but does not immediately recognise this Benoit. And in that final, haunting POV shot, a new consciousness behind the camera, as if he is seeing for this first time, not just looking. The mastery of My Uncle Antoine is that is is so tragic because it invests so much into the small Quebecan town, and the intricate, painful details. This elevates the emotional trauma to new levels. See the tenderness of a final sexual embrace between Jos and Madame Pouline, and how they come together in the barn. See how the exact same treatment is applied to aunt Cecile's affair; not with the usual aggressive lust, but with an air of sweetness in how Fernand stares at her and tentatively compliments her dress. Spare a though for Carmen, who think she is old enough to be wearing lipstick, before hastily washing it off when Benoit teases her about it. In her father's eyes, she is less a daughter and more a worker.