Anyone who spends enough time watching films of the 1990s will pick up on one thing real quick. It was a very violent decade. Just in terms of American exports, there was an endless stream of serial killer stories and fear-inducing dramas of families being torn apart. It would accumulate in the often misinterpreted Fight Club (1999) which remains a textbook study of toxic masculinity. This wasn’t a topic that was necessarily exclusive to the states. Around the world, every culture brought forth auteurs who were pushing boundaries and questioning sides of civility that had rarely been challenged. I can’t be sure why the world felt angrier at the time. Maybe it was the sense of a century coming to an end. Maybe it was just bad timing. Whatever it was, La Haine (1995) bought the mentality wholesale.
I have heard about La Haine for years now. I was probably early into my college experience when I saw its placement on IMDb’s Top 250. There was something always appealing about it, but I have been squeamish to jump into “aggressive” cinema. Having seen the picture of Vincent Cassell holding up the finger gun was violent enough for me to just assume this was balls-to-the-wall insane. One day I would watch it, but it never floated to top priority for the longest time. Then, thanks to TCM, I finally crossed it off the list.
Whereas there are a ton of 90s movies that felt confrontational for the sake of attention, director Mathieu Kassovitz uses the story to convey something much more complicated. Despite the stylization and intimacy, the story this ultimately reminded me of was a prototype for the Baltimore-based TV series The Wire. The thing that was most fascinating wasn’t the violence or the desperation, but the anthropological study of a destitute environment. I’m sure La Haine is less bothered by accuracy than David Simon’s seminal series was, but even then there is something that feels real. Even with gunshots and fist fights, there is some desire to push beyond the fronting and find the humanity underneath.
This was done, quite cleverly, by focusing on three friends who live in an unflattering corner of France. Vinz (Cassell) is Jewish. Hubert (Hubert Kounde) is Black. Said (Said Taghmaoui) is Arab. Each one presents a community that was trivialized at the time and each feel in some ways detached from their environment. They aren’t offered the world of glamour with Eifel Towers and art galleries. What they get are ghettos and broken down gyms. People breakdance in abandoned buildings so long as the police don’t form false assumptions of violence. On the one hand, this is no different from any wayward youth story of trying to rebel against the system. However, the tension feels much more serious.
Kassovitz opens the film with an epigraph regarding those who have protested and died. As reggae plays over the opening credits, the audience gets to see the subtext that is otherwise absent. Despite the endless run-ins with the law, the trio aren’t seen in mass protests as they’re charged by cops in riot gear. The other opening exchange regards a premise that seems morbid and foreboding. The comment is about a man jumping from a building who is thinking, “So far so good.” The suggestion is that it’s not important how one falls, but how they land. In the viewer’s mind, the assumption of the jumper’s fate is probably morbid and upsetting without ever having to see it.
And yet the landing can’t help but exist in the subtext of the larger film. Tensions feel high despite none of the core characters being introduced. The upsetting nature keeps the viewer on edge as they finally are, and it makes the whole story feel unwholesomely violent. Even in the moments that aren’t driven by bloodlust, there is something that clearly needs to be resolved. These are young men who are frustrated at the world. Vinz constantly fantasizes about shooting cops while using dehumanizing humor to undercut his friends’ confidence. There is no moment of levity even in their bonding. While this helps to show an authentic friendship, it’s also evident that the cruelty of their environment has made it hard to recognize compassion.
As the title suggests, La Haine means hate. It is doubtful that every character hates each other in this story. There are some heated arguments, but there is ultimately acceptance as they attempt to survive. Kassovitz does a phenomenal job of keeping suspense alive less by arguing when the metaphorical Chekhov’s Gun will go off so much as when the relief will happen. As the audience is introduced to this environment, they see endless graffiti and walls torn down. There is a gym that somebody took two years to attain that is in ruins. Others solve arguments by doing classic drive-bys and vandalizing cars. The small accomplishments are torn asunder, leaving the underclass to start over. As once pointed out in the film as the young gang laughs, how is somebody supposed to work when their source of transportation is ruined? The cherry on top comes in the third act when the absence of transportation impacts the trio’s ability to get home after a scuffle.
More than anything, this is a film that feels organic and unsanitized. I have never been to France nor am I familiar with the youth culture it presents. Even with that handicap, I was able to see characters that felt immediate and recognizable. If you had met them in the wild, there’s a good chance that you’d be turned off. They come off as having a death wish as they mock police to their face and graffiti rebel messages along walls. There is no middle ground of understanding. Simple things like loitering becomes a cause for concern. There’s even questions of mental health concerns as Vinz at points sees cows wandering around. Again, I’m not sure if there are rogue animals in this region, but it’s definitely treated as dreamlike since neither Said nor Hubert ever see it.
Another thing that makes the film feel organic is that they feel like they exist in the real world. I am used to French New Wave and artists like Francois Truffaut who romanticize American cinema imports with diligence. La Haine may be one of the first where the consumption feels like something more westernized. At one point there is a whole discussion on what the gun model that Mel Gibson uses in Lethal Weapon (1987) is. Without advancing plot, it reveals how fascinated these men are with violence. They consume the idea that it’s important to be tough and come in literally guns blazing. Vinz may be the bigmouth who scares you with his cockiness, but he’s mostly harmless. Still, there’s this self-aware commentary on how his fantasies are just that. This isn’t a film. Life doesn’t work the way anyone wants. For as hokey as this trope can be, La Haine’s use makes a phenomenal balance between expectations and reality.
Nowhere is that clearer than in Kassovitz’s direction. While he seems less endeared to worshiping American cinema like Truffaut, he still can’t help but borrow a lot of tools. Every frame feels so grimy with the audience finding something to feel disgusted by. The animosity is less to prod than it is to comment on the ways that these people try to repress their rage to get through the day. Given that media is a form of escapism as well as celebration, it makes sense that these three men use it to feel “seen.” Their story is ugly, but the cinematography is gorgeous.
There are a few moments that feel music video adjacent. A lot of it comes with how Kassovitz frames the actors in their environments. Where someone could be standing in the foreground peacefully, there might be unclear violence in the background. The contrast is beautifully done in one scene where a breakdancer does a head spin while people are running in the background. It’s clear that the cops have arrived. Along with the impressiveness of the dancer’s physicality going long enough to convey the background action, there is no certainty how the moment concludes. Though in reality it probably ended horribly.
This is such an artful, stimulating film that doesn’t attempt to romanticize or pity its subject. Instead it creates this fluid understanding of how the characters feel. In another scene, a DJ performs from an apartment window as the camera does an aerial shot that carries across the courtyard. The sound fades with the distance. I’m not entirely sure how Kassovitz pulled it off, but without strictly speaking the themes, it’s reflecting how messages can be expressed and transmitted. Given that it’s a mash-up of KRS-One and Edith Piaf, it’s an interesting cross-section of cultures in a film that’s all about French import consumption. They’re being sold the idea of freedom in style, but are they truly free? All they can do is dream of escape but, without a car, how can they go anywhere? They can transmit messages, but will it fall on deaf ears?
There is violence, but the assumption of it is much worse. The third act is complete tension for no other reason than the characters are at the end of their ropes. They have lost friends and have been disadvantaged in several ways. There comes a point where Kassovitz has trained the audience so much to expect looming danger that the simple presence of a passerby becomes nail-biting. Relief does not set in even when they recognize him as a friend. Instead it just resets the dread of how long they can go before they’re caught. Also, this is a story that feels very much designed for a Chekhov’s Gun moment, and nobody is sure when or why it’ll go off. It might not even be Vinz shooting a cop. There’s that many problems arising.
Everything returns to the statement made at the start. The reminder that watching a jumper is horrifying. It could be that one envisions how they can stop the impending tragedy from happening without having the resources to pull it off. Maybe it’s that they’re already awaiting the demise. La Haine’s jumper is something more abstract and evident in the entire text. Despite the central cast being largely written as unlikable, there is some hope that they’ll have something go right. Relief will set in eventually. Alas, Kassovitz’s corny line about life not being like cinema means that this story isn’t going to have a happy ending. There won’t be any firefighters with a net to catch the jumper. Everything will fall and all we can do is watch.
What makes it effective is that despite being an unbiased reflection of inner-city turmoil, I like to think this is a drama asking for compassion and change. Much like how A Short Film About Killing (1988) eventually lead to Poland overturning the death penalty, the need for an extreme view of everyday struggles only helps the message to stick and hopefully inspire change. If not, it still serves as one of the most unpredictable, intense, and rewarding films of the 90s. Even if it feels at times borrowed from American counterparts, it doesn’t use it as merely pastiche. Everything feels intentional and elevates the feeling of reality and escapism into something more complex. A song with a message can only travel so far. At some point real change needs to be made, or else hate will live on forever.
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