Two boarding schools: one for girls in Lucile Novat’s novel “Voir venir” published by Editions du Sous-Sol, and one for boys in Valéry Carnoy’s film “La Danse des renards,” released in theaters last Wednesday. Two ensemble stories, bordering on a coming-of-age tale, with light elements of wonder; two tales in their own right, delving into many obsessions of our time, including in form, but succeeding with honesty, accuracy, and a certain finesse in writing.
So let’s start with the girls, sequestered in the remarkable closed environment of the Maison d’éducation de la Légion d’honneur, an old building next to the basilica of Saint-Denis. Here, young girls can study, coming from families where at least one member has received the highest honor medal – girls whose sociological profile tends to be bourgeois or upper-class, with hair tied up, collars, good grades, and classical culture. Yet, they sneak out at night, climb onto roofs to gaze at the sky, or slip into mysterious doors leading to the crypts where the French kings were buried and then unearthed. Watching over them is a fairy named Vanessa, a local woman raised by a mother devoid of much love. Perhaps to compensate, she lavishes attention on these younger girls burdened with various curses: deceased parents, mysterious illnesses, morbid impulses.
Another closed environment is the wonderful setting of a STAPS (Sciences et Techniques of Physical and Sports Activities) high school where young boxers train in the film “La Danse des Renards.” Camille, portrayed by Samuel Kircher, stands out as a champion, pushed by the coach and supported by his peers, particularly his friend Mattéo, who seems to have a troubled past, possibly tied to a criminal background. Camille and Mattéo’s pastime involves going to the so-called “meat tree” in the nearby woods where they attract foxes, one of which causes a group imbalance after Camille’s injury.
Here are two tales set in closed spaces with archaic and sometimes cruel rules, non-mixed places where the intrusion of the opposite sex causes notable disturbances, and where adults may not necessarily understand how things work. The young individuals transform for better and for worse within these settings. The blending of naturalism and fairy tale elements can often be cliché in contemporary fiction but is well balanced in these two cases because the authors make bold choices: Valéry Carnoy breaks the choral form midway through the film by highlighting the white character in the group, while Lucile Novat skillfully avoids the pitfall of juxtaposing social privileges and the reality of Saint-Denis.
Both stories stay within their enclosed environments, providing enough exploration without a uniform message or grandiosity, making the characters truly likable in this condition.
