In his third feature-length documentary, Christian Mathieu Fournier offers us a very poetic foray into a seniors’ home in Saint-Casimir, where five elderly people and their two caregivers reside. Like a painter, the filmmaker places his camera, tirelessly still, on these characters who witness the passage of time, while the house threatens to close its doors permanently. The result is a patient, contemplative work that invites reflection.
Christian Mathieu Fournier’s documentaries always seek to make accurate and sincere portraits, which testifies to the work done in advance with the people he meets (for example The Syrians and Portneuf. A story reception, released in 2020). The director again immerses himself here in the Portneuf region and the subjects he observes with great sensitivity. Never miserabilist, the images follow one another without almost any words, so that the rare words uttered resonate with particular force. The adage “do more with a little” takes on its full meaning here. Waiting for Casimir is a work that is constructed hollowly, thanks to what travels in long silences and interior landscapes.
In this lodging house where clocks are collected by the dozens, the cuckoo clocks and grandfather mechanisms must be wound every morning. When a staff member forgets to activate the mechanism, the clock stagnates, and it seems as if, for an instant, time has stood still. Ultimate fantasy, perhaps, of these characters. Outside, a presence lurks. Mysterious and shooting. A disturbing figure which echoes, perhaps, the death to come.
Airs of magical realism
Freely inspired byWaiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett, the documentary sometimes gives itself an air of magical realism. The musical composition, carried by musicians as talented as Martin Lizotte (piano), Mathieu Désy (double bass) and Guillaume Bourque (clarinet and bass clarinet), is a character in its own right and constitutes real writing in this film without dialogue. The soundtrack, with its flute sounds, sets an atmosphere halfway between the disturbing and the playful. Here, a street lamp lights up, there, a shadow falls on a facade. In this tenuous play of light, poetry is revealed and the tale unfolds.
Waiting for Casimirlike Beckett’s play, tells no story. It is in this fragmentary composition that the originality and evocative force of this documentary reside. More than vignettes, these fragments are paintings whose visual quality must be emphasized, because each shot seems framed and colored with the virtuosity of a painter. The still shots, often wide, provide formal and thematic cohesion to this work which would benefit from being seen on the big screen.
Through the very careful sound design which accentuates the ticking of the dials, we never forget that the seconds are ticking. This passage of time resonates differently in this residence where there are not many birthdays left to celebrate. At this end of life which seems driven by little other than waiting, the sense of the future becomes rare. We therefore cling to the present, but also to memories. And it is in fine to this memory, which persists and vibrates in the heart, that the film pays homage.
