Le Fil(aka The String) promises much but delivers little. This directorial debut by Mehdi Ben Attia is confused by what it wants to be. Starting as a commentary on quasi-French colonialism vis a vis Tunisian servitude, Le Fil then dabbles unsuccessfully in a range of conflicting cinematic genres – from melodrama to thriller to comedy. It seems to favour melodrama but masters none. Ultimately, the film wants to satisfy every genre but ends up a dissatisfying mess. The editing also feels rushed as if the film has to be under 90 minutes. There is not much of a plot to drive the narrative. What starts of as a restrained gay version of Mommie Dearest soon becomes something altogether different.
Claudia Cardinale is maniacal enough to maintain her bitchiness as the archetypal overbearing mother, whose closeted French-Arab architect son, Hakim returns home to live with her in Tunusia. Soon enough conflicts arise between both, and the Oedipal attachment is soon erupted by the son's longing for the Tunusian handyman, Bilal. The son is torn between his mother's approval and his desire to live as a gay man in Tunisia. The fact that he could easily have moved back to France with his handyman is not even mentioned. Instead we are treated to a dubious moral fable about the importance of family – the ties that bind can imprison us, but they also liberate us at a price: the façade of social conformity.
I also found the conceit of the string, real and imagined, was rather crude. As a symbol of the umbilical cord it might have a Freudian significance, but it felt clumsily realised and out of touch with the film's penchant for realism. The film feels like a reflection of many gay men's reality by saying that gay men must compromise their lives to live in a heterosexist world. In spite of the happy ending that reaffirms the conservative values of family, Le Fil climaxes as a depressing tale for gay men who want to be free of the strictures of family life.
Claudia Cardinale is maniacal enough to maintain her bitchiness as the archetypal overbearing mother, whose closeted French-Arab architect son, Hakim returns home to live with her in Tunusia. Soon enough conflicts arise between both, and the Oedipal attachment is soon erupted by the son's longing for the Tunusian handyman, Bilal. The son is torn between his mother's approval and his desire to live as a gay man in Tunisia. The fact that he could easily have moved back to France with his handyman is not even mentioned. Instead we are treated to a dubious moral fable about the importance of family – the ties that bind can imprison us, but they also liberate us at a price: the façade of social conformity.
I also found the conceit of the string, real and imagined, was rather crude. As a symbol of the umbilical cord it might have a Freudian significance, but it felt clumsily realised and out of touch with the film's penchant for realism. The film feels like a reflection of many gay men's reality by saying that gay men must compromise their lives to live in a heterosexist world. In spite of the happy ending that reaffirms the conservative values of family, Le Fil climaxes as a depressing tale for gay men who want to be free of the strictures of family life.