Premise: A year in the classroom of a grade nine French teacher (François Bégaudeau).It's going to be hard to sell you on the movie based on that premise, but it would be disingenuous to say that there's more than that. There is, there's so much more; but to the plot, there isn't. This is one of the bravest movies I have ever seen.
Writing a memoir, co-writing the screenplay based on said memoir, and starring in the adaptation sounds like a massive ego trip. For Bégaudeau and co-writer and director Laurent Cantet, it's not. It takes courage to look at a situation, to point out its flaws (apathetic students, frustrated teachers, institutional racism), and to say that you are also responsible. The big confrontation, if you can call it that, seems to arise out of nowhere, and any hope of resolution disappears just as quickly. Moreover, Bégaudeau is at least partially at fault, and the way he frames the issue and its solution to his class in the courtyard, to his fellow teachers in the staff lounge, and to the principal in his office makes compromise look futile.
Bégaudeau and Cantet make of all this matter not with explosive acting, sad back stories, or a shocking death the way that American filmmakers would have. They establish it slowly through rhythm, the back and forth between Bégaudeau and his students as he engages them, fights them, corrects them, inspires them, and sometimes fails them. Instead of being stultifying, it feels so real and natural that you'd think you were watching a documentary. The camera is only in place to bear witness not to call attention to anything or to present a point of view. It's Bégaudeau's story, but it's not about him. It has less to do with the notion the English translation of the title is trying to push -- class as people -- and everything to do with class as place, where there is a definite limit to what is and is not a part of it, a limit set in place to allow the students to learn but one that also limits how much a teacher can do.
It's strange that at no time does this movie feel like a mea culpa. Bégaudeau's not offering excuses nor is he apologizing. That he is culpable is not denied. In his diverse class (a mix of African, Asian and Middle Eastern immigrants with a few French thrown in played by young, non-actors using their own first names), in his role of bringing the kids out, he faces challenges, some of which he meets, some of which he exceeds, and some of which he falls short. It takes courage to recognize this, and afterwards you realize that you have witnessed something rare. A
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