By way of this warped Xavier Dolanesque reimagining of John Hughes' The Breakfast Club (1985) we are falsely prepared for something we aren't given. The suggestion is of an early Almodóvar sex farce, but it stays at the level of a bad parody of French theatre. It represents sex in an AngloSaxon manner, that of tittering at flaccid penises driven through with the visual aesthetic of a Zalman King straight-to-video soft porn epic. The type of insight that thinks that every female character (and one male) is a sexual debauchee because they have painted nails.
And then the second half comes and everything changes. At once the film twists and becomes a transcendence by twilight that illuminates our nascent characters into existential archetypes that call upon both Nebuchadnezzar's fevered dreams and Scheherazade's tales of the past. In a forest of the mind, they admit to themselves and each other what ails them and hopes to come, healing themselves in the process. Dawn approaches and, willed towards finality by M83's score, there is offered the hope of continence that with a red roaring sun, an enigmatic smile of promise and possibilities of an alternative existence, leaves us formally exhausted and trying to forget the first half. You and the Night is a bizarre, barely contented work from a filmmaker that is certainly one to watch.
D.W. Mault | @D_W_Mault