French filmmaker Robin Campillo takes a more personal approach with his latest film, Red Island. Here, he brings us to his childhood on a French military base in Madagascar in the early-1970s, just over a decade after the Malagasy Republic officially gained independence from France. While this context is, of course, fundamental to understanding what happens in Campillo's new historical drama, the director offers us an entry-point by way of its protagonist, 10-year-old Thomas (Charlie Vauselle). It's through Thomas' young eyes — which has both advantages and disadvantages — that we bear witness to a time of great change and grief, and even greater anger.
Red Island follows Thomas' family as they enjoy a seemingly blissful life on a military compound in Madagascar. His father, Robert (Quim Gutiérrez), is a low-ranking officer, but has clear ambitions to rise up the ranks at the base. Meanwhile, Thomas' mother, Colette (Nadia Tereszkiewicz), spends her days at home, taking care of the house and her three sons. Thomas himself is a pensive and observant child, who prefers reading and keeping a keen eye on the goings-on between his parents and other adults on the compound, which includes a passionate, if somewhat listless, young man named Bernard (Hugues Delamarlière).
Red Island feels like a summer vacation, as the characters bask in the warmth and beauty of the country, but this paradise houses a darker truth.
Masterfully Captures the Softness of a Child's Gaze
Campillo's previous film, BPM (Beats Per Minute), which was about the AIDS crisis in 1990s France, showcased the director's ability to tap into the fury and frustration of a people abandoned by its government. His directorial efforts before that — 2013's Eastern Boys and 2004's They Came Back — also dealt with darker subjects, each tinged with violence and death in their own ways. This is what makes Red Island a particularly notable film, as, tonally, it feels almost in direct opposition to everything else he has directed.
Indeed, framed predominantly within young Thomas' perspective, Red Island prioritizes the softness and propensity for play and daydreams of any young, introverted child. This is immediately apparent in the film's opening scene, which sees super-girl Fantômette (Calissa Oskal-Ool) facing off against a group of henchmen (who are costumed in muppet-like masks). It's not until a few moments later that we learn Fantômette is the lead character of a book Thomas is reading, but the fact that Campillo coerces us to sit in this moment — in fact, scene-inserts of Fantômette are a recurring element throughout the film — indicates how rooted we are in Thomas' point of view.
In this regard, Vauselle must be commended for his performance as the young protagonist, striking the perfect balance between naive and precocious. There's the expected youthful spark in his eyes, but he proves himself capable of the more serious scenes, imbuing Thomas' knowing looks and leers with a heaviness that suggests wisdom beyond his years. By extension, praise also goes to cinematographer Jeanne Lapoirie, who accentuates Red Island's child-like scope without it feeling juvenile or purposeless. Yes, we see the story through Thomas' eyes, but it's not solely superheroes and playing pretend; real colonialist history and tragedy hovers on the outskirts.
Red Island Is Limited by Its Own Narrative Devices
Interestingly, Red Island's biggest strength is also responsible for one of its biggest weaknesses. Thomas' perspective, and his infectious curiosity about the world around him, does well at teasing the more mature themes at play, but it also effectively limits the film's ability to fully explore them. The dynamic between Colette and Robert, like many realistic marriages, simmers with as much tension and perhaps even resentment as it does love and passion. And while Tereszkiewicz and Gutiérrez are magnetic in their roles, because of the perspective, we only get an incomplete portrait of who they really are.
Similarly, and arguably more egregiously, the historical context the film is founded upon — that of France's colonization of Madagascar — isn't given the screentime it deserves. Understandably, Campillo's film operates on his own childhood memory, which itself can never be perfect, complete, or fully-informed; however, the closing sequence takes a decidedly sharp turn away from Thomas, the military base, and everything we saw thus far. It's a harsh (and exciting) awakening here, with anger and outcry taking the reins from childhood wonder and safety.
Much of Red Island ping-pongs between the importance of seeing and being seen (whether literally, socially, culturally, or otherwise) and the failure of sight (what we see through Thomas' eyes isn't the full story, after all). Though it is an exquisite film on a technical and creative level, by the closing sequence you can't help but wonder if this is the story that should have been told all along.
Red Island is a Film Movement release and had a limited theatrical run in select theaters. You can find information here.
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