Iris is a film of style and substance. This feature-length French character study of a young woman whose life turns into a series of traumatic tests in search of love and acceptance never shies from heavy subject matter or dark themes. Deeply personal and excessively dark, it is a fantastic exploration of where isolation leads us.
After being attacked in a subway late at night, young artist Iris (Margaux Colarusso) relives the past few weeks of her life as she pieces together events that led her to the encounter. Her violent father’s (Michel Angely) abuse of her mother (Annick Cornette) builds tension in their home, and she flees the hostility to new friends in Alice (Alize Nickolson) and Vincent (Kevin Ziane). She begins to develop unexpected feelings towards Alice, but family tragedy soon throws her entire world into question.
Pain, loneliness and trauma are at the heart of Iris. The film is dark, unrelentingly so. Its protagonist is put through the ringer – with life finding ways to overpower fraying shoots of hope time and time again with more and more cruel developments as the film progresses, with the crescendo being the brutal attack we see in the film’s opening. Some viewers will find the film too dark, too cynical, too revelling in misery. But those who do may miss the message that the film aims to convey – that confronting tensions and knowing when to walk away from those that are toxic to us is a necessity, and certain people do not deserve automatic forgiveness.
This is however undermined by certain moments in the film that risk carrying a counter-productive lesson. Without spoilers it’s difficult to discuss, but these relate to the triggers for reconciliations and some of the implications of what Iris’ actions lead to. It’s ultimately up to audiences to determine their perspective, but given that the film seems to yearn for Iris’ escape from her current predicaments, the film’s conclusions feel a little trite and out of sync with the prior narrative in the first 2 acts.
Margaux Colarusso is magnetic in the titular leading role. The viewer is instinctively drawn to Iris, feeling her joy, pain, anger and desolation throughout the story. Scenes in which director Brandon Gotto simply lingers on her face are amongst the most powerful, allowing her eyes to exude damage and her face to capture pain. Her chemistry with Alize Nickolson utterly convinces of a growing relationship, and her resignation as this plotline develops is emotionally devastating. Elsewhere Michel Angely captures the brutal nature of Iris’ Father, a man whose callousness towards his family splinters into a spiral for the lives of all 3 members.
The film is visually striking, heating and cooling as Iris’ life goes from an art-inspired journey to break free of an oppressive family to a joyless existence of abandonment. The violent scenes in the underpass that bookend the film are expounded by expert lighting that channels horror. The vibrancy of Iris at home or with friends is such a contrast to the film’s darkest moments to the benefit of both.
Whilst its narrative ends on a confusing note, Iris is a memorable and moving film that excellently characterises its protagonist and uses her to explore relatable and important themes around abuse, neglect and abandonment. It’s a tough watch and one that audiences may not wish to put themselves through with multiple viewings, but Brandon Gotto’s film certainly deserves to be seen and felt.