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The Son is such an incredibly simple film that it’s hard to believe you don’t see movies like it more often. But then again, I feel the same way whenever I read a short story by Raymond Carver. As far as capturing the essence of humanity, both Raymond Carver and Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne’s The Son prove the most affective approach is intimacy. Background checks and traditional, dramatic plot turns aren’t the only ways to paint characters; sometimes, as seen in The Son, we just need a little alone time combined with an air of mystery.

And we get LOTS of alone time with Olivier (Olivier Gourmet), as well as a generous helping of equivocality. The Son’s “twist” isn’t a twist at all, because revealing Francis (Morgan Marinne) killed Olivier’s son five years earlier is presented like a minor detail that was only left out because nobody brought it up. But the manner in which it’s brought up, abruptly during a scene between Olivier and his ex-wife, is more realistic than it is sudden. Olivier stalks around, zones out and acts strangely, basically avoiding human contact by any means necessary. But he’s not doing it on purpose; he’s legitimately troubled by some sort of dilemma, so his behavior only builds the mystery.

Not knowing the answer doesn’t take away from those earlier scenes, but the revelation does allow them to make more sense and make a larger emotional dent. At first I thought Olivier was attracted to the school’s counselor. He hovered outside her office and ran down the hallway when she left the room. He then proceeded to hesitantly enter her office, only to attempt to leave several times, despite her calling his name. We comes to find out he wasn’t only contemplating whether or not to allow Francis into his class. But then you observe those early scenes between Olivier and Francis. Olivier finds Francis sleeping on a bench, stares at him in awe, and then knocks on the wall to wake him up. Every time Francis approaches him with an inquiry, Olivier stares for a moment, and then snaps back to reality. These nuances are so subtle that they only create secrecy at first, but become full-blown stomach lurchers once we come to understand their origin.

One reason we notice these details is the intimate camerawork by the Dardennes. For 90% of the film, we are within a few feet of Olivier, and often times within inches. This sort of cinematography recalls how a Raymond Carver short story would appear on film (Robert Altman’s Short Cuts doesn’t count). The reason we connect with Olivier isn’t because we also know loss and suffering, but it’s because raw emotions bring out the painstakingly mundane elements of everyday life. We really don’t need to see Olivier doing sit-ups and washing dishes to understand why he’s torn by the Francis situation, but it brings us into his mindset, where the unrigorous chores of the day continue to exist despite any mental inconveniences. Refusing to participate in these matters only allows you to dwell on your problems; choosing otherwise provides a much needed distraction.

Most of the time, we aren’t even granted a frontal shot of Olivier; we trail behind him, sometimes peeking around the corner in order to be unobtrusive. But one of the first shots we get of Olivier’s entire face is when Francis walks across the room, away from Olivier. Olivier stops and stares at Francis, looking as though he’s seen a ghost. The shot speaks volumes because it’s the first time the two have spent a significant amount of time together, and beforehand Olivier seemed very cool and collected. But the shot reveals it was all an act, and that Francis’ presence will do more than its fair share of mind-fucking to Olivier.

Much like Olivier’s ex-wife, we are left to wonder why exactly Olivier feels the need to spend time with Francis. He even goes out of his way to take Francis on a trip, spending hours on the road with the boy outside of school hours. But Olivier himself claims he doesn’t even know why. His ex-wife exclaims, “Nobody else would do this!” to which Olivier responds, “I know.” The fact that he knows doesn’t change a thing, yet it convinces us he’s wholeheartedly attached to the boy. And, more than anything, it serves as a troubling proclamation about human existence as a whole. As much as we strive to find happiness and love, we prefer clarity more than anything. We hate the idea of people dying in a car crash, yet we cannot help but stare when passing by a wreck. A husband would be completely devastated to find out his wife cheated on him, yet he would want to hear every detail of her adulterous affair. While all emotions are beautiful and character building, anger, jealousy and self-enacted pain aren’t exactly traits we adhere to. But the disclosed need to feel such pain exists within everyone, and we’d be lying to ourselves if we said we didn’t understand Olivier’s attraction to Francis.

Olivier is even unsure of his own intentions. He clearly wants to confront Francis on his crime, which seems inevitable, but reasonably has trouble bringing it up. He asks about why Francis was in jail, then pushes him to proceed beyond his excuse of theft. Francis eventually says he killed a little boy, to which Olivier responds with complete silence. Hearing it becomes a sort of temporary pain-relieving medicine for Olivier, but his hunger for clarity becomes all the more palpable without the details. He eventually pushes Francis into revealing how he killed the boy. Olivier yells at Francis about his obtuse reasoning, probably getting years worth of pain off his chest. He then misses a turn, providing yet another seemingly minor detail that actually speaks larger volumes about Olivier’s complicated mindset.

The film is so realistic in its storytelling manner that even its symbolism seems none too far-fetched. I appreciate symbolism in such films as Fish Tank, like when Mia attempts to free a horse from its chains. Like the animal, she feels the need to escape her enclosed world and explore the possibilities of life. This is forcibly inserted symbolism that speaks larger volumes, but lends itself to some skepticism in the reality department. In The Son, the symbolism exists between Olivier and Francis, who are more alike than Olivier cares to admit. The film’s title itself begs the question of who exactly “the son” is, as Francis seems to take after Olivier just like a son would. Olivier is drawn to such meticulous details, such as when they both order apple turnovers, or how they both clean themselves after class in the exact same manner, or how they both sip their coffees at the exact same time.

But what’s so powerful about these proceedings is its self-aware symbolism. Olivier takes notice of all these things and contemplates them. He himself recognizes the strangeness of their compatibility. Normally these things would be presented in movies as comical wink-winks that the characters are blissfully unaware of, but Olivier’s recognition shows us that this sort of “symbolism” happens all the time, and even exacts the question of what symbolism really means. Symbolism is a detail that is supposed to represent a larger picture, but that would also mean it doesn’t exist in real life; it’s a manufactured tool used by writers, yet the very idea of symbolism can be found in everyday tasks. We draw meaning from the simplest things in order to feel something larger, even when there may be no meaning at all.

Dissecting the meaning of symbolism is like dissecting The Son as a whole. There’s not much to explore about The Son because it’s presented as is. We follow the characters and we completely understand their situations, and the film ends with no loose ends. All we can do is admire the intimacy of the film and let it dictate the way we feel. You may watch The Son and feel nothing much at all. Or you may take notice of the fact that you and Olivier aren’t so different, and that even the complexity of the human condition can be best explained by something so simple.

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I can hardly think of a film less cinematic or as uneventful as The Son. From the drab visual palette to the stone-faced acting and plodding storytelling, it is a film that laughs defiantly in the face of movie convention by doing absolutely everything in its power to… not do anything. No emotional involvement, no intrigue, no apparent sense of place or timing either. Just a spineless no-frills attempt at neo-realism that’s complete refusal to play by the rules feels more like repellant stubbornness than artistic statement. There’s merit in the Dardennes’ brave work, but it doesn’t amount to much here.

Such tension, drive, character depth and dramatic complication with so little dialog and zero music. This is cinema. This is utilizing the potential of the cinematic apparatus for exploring what it is to be human in the midst of the muddied mess of humanity. In its stripped down and immediate approach there are two stars – the actor and the camera – both seamlessly, meticulously, methodically, rhythmically playing off the other. Instantly captivating, beautiful, smart and emotional without so much rote manipulation and exploitation.