French film-maker Alice Winocour’s brother was inside the Bataclan concert hall in Paris in November 2015; in interviews she has talked about texting him while he hid. He survived the massacre, and now she has made a drama about a fictional terrorist attack on Paris. It’s not about the bloodshed or war zone carnage; her film is a kind of psychological detective tale, following a survivor as she tries to piece together her memories of what happened on the night. It’s a measured, quietly powerful film with a performance from Virginie Efira that seems almost telepathic at times; in scenes where she doesn’t say a word, barely twitching a muscle in her face, yet somehow you know what she’s feeling.
Efira plays Mia, a no-nonsense journalist and translator in her 40s, partner, no kids. It’s bad luck on a grand scale that she’s in the restaurant targeted by terrorists. Riding her motorbike home late, the skies open; time slows as she ducks into the restaurant to sit out the downpour, orders a glass of wine, then a gun fires. Winocour films the attack mostly from Mia’s perspective, flat on her stomach lying on the ground. Like her, all we really see is the killer’s feet. It’s the sound design – breaking glass and terror – that makes it unbearable.
