This French-language short film is exasperatingly open-ended, despite bringing up some important themes.
★★☆☆☆
The topics of identity and growing up have been a perennial concern for filmmakers, not least Benoît Duvette. His latest, Éden and Charlie, continues a run of shorts centred on pairs of men, but strips back even further: those two in the title are the only characters, allowing their burgeoning masculinity to be examined in detail.
Flashing back from an initial kiss, the film documents a tentative relationship between two adolescents coming to terms with their homosexuality. Charlie (Néven Carron) is shy and reserved, spending his spare time in an abandoned country house; he claims to be using the peace and quiet to study, but we never see so much as a textbook. He is disturbed by Éden (Augustin Dewinter) sneaking in to take self-portraits in this amazingly preserved building, and is instantly smitten. As the two strike up a conversation and explore the secrets of the house, they begin to realise a shared connection.
The goal of Duvette, who wrote and directed the piece, appears to be removing the story from typical teen struggles. The bullying in school and at home that so often features in LGBTQ+ coming-of-age narratives is deliberately left off-screen here; both boys have bruises that they refuse to explain. In a smart move, the internalised homophobia instilled in other environments pervades these walls too. Éden talks movingly of pressure from his father to be someone he’s not, while a portentous bathing scene quietly hints at Charlie’s own shame and resentment. And yet, even though they have been gifted an opportunity to express themselves in this new seclusion, it remains a struggle for them.
The idea of double lives becomes central to the film’s study. Charlie is more comfortable in his sexuality, more open with his feelings for Éden—and yet he is also the more isolated one, whom we never see arriving at or leaving the house. Éden, on the other hand, is fixated on the barriers he has to put up while living at home. As an amateur photographer, he talks about the “persona” he looks for when posing for portraits, and admits that “it doesn’t really look like me”. The story is then of Charlie waiting for Éden to let him in, and for the two to grow together.
Considering Duvette’s previous body of work, it feels very much like a short film in construction: there’s a lack of narrative progression, an elliptical structure, and a focus on symbolism. However, at 45 minutes, this practice is stretched thin. In place of a story, Duvette remains frustratingly focused on visual metaphors—a vintage photo album of quasi-erotic poses hidden in the attic, or Éden helping Charlie prise open the door to a hidden cupboard. These ideas work on paper as broad evocations of both boys’ interior struggles, but they are not visualised successfully enough to elucidate any progression of emotion beyond their basic concepts.
Where the direction strives towards ambiguity, other elements of the film work against that possibility. The performances from Carron and Dewinter are nicely downplayed; they have a tricky job with the often sparse dialogue, and manage to breathe some life into their deliberately masked and layered personae. But in the prolonged wordless sequences, a strident score throws the balance off; the endless minor-key arpeggios cry out for drama, and stifle what could have been a subtly wrought romance.
The Verdict
With Duvette being a fledgling director, this film shows promise; he has interesting things to say about masculinity, and the idyllic abandoned house is a fantastic central setting. Nonetheless, the heavy-handed poetry and jarring score make for a laborious watch as the film plays out.
Words by Max King
Éden and Charlie is available to stream on digital platforms now
Support The Indiependent
We’re trying to raise £200 a month to help cover our operational costs. This includes our ‘Writer of the Month’ awards, where we recognise the amazing work produced by our contributor team. If you’ve enjoyed reading our site, we’d really appreciate it if you could donate to The Indiependent. Whether you can give £1 or £10, you’d be making a huge difference to our small team.