An Arab, an African and a Jew walk into a bar…
Beyond the glittering lights of Paris’ Eiffel Tower, the masterpieces and artifacts that nest in the Louvre and the chubby Americans wiping the last bits of a greasy melted Croque-monsieur from their lips, lies a place few tourists see. In America, the suburbs are a place where the stuffy middle class move to settle down and shield their children from the wild banshees and bad influences of the big city. In Paris, the suburbs are a grittier side of the city of lights. A place where a melting pot of immigrants struggle to float above the poverty line, while their young sons fight an uphill battle with the police that could cost them their lives. La Haine offers a glimpse into this reality through a day in the life of three amigos: Said (an Arab), Hubert (an African), and Vinz (a Jew). Though they vary in race, they share a friend in the hospital, a found Police gun, illusions of grandeur, and an affinity for track suits and tacky jewelry (It’s the nineties!?). They’re at that age where everything is about proving yourself, yet their threats amount to little more than mugging in their bathroom mirrors à la Travis Bickle. Hey, I guess some revolutions were started with less.
La Haine feels like director and writer Mathieu Kassovitz’s French answer to John Singleton’s Boyz N The Hood. A group of cocky wanna-be thugs united in a hatred of the police but in way over their heads. The high contrast black and white cinematography give the film a feeling of cinéma vérité. The visual style is supported by authentic performances, especially from a young Vincent Cassel (Irreversible, Mesrine,The Black Swan) and a soundtrack that includes Bob Marley, Issac Hayes, The Beastie Boys, and Cameo (Ahem, before Cameo became this). Nearly sixteen years later, La Haine is a modern classic in French cinema, and a brilliant example of the less is more approach to the visual language of film.
