Screen Machine

Review: A Prophet

Judging by Jacques Audiard’s most recent film, A Prophet, French prison is no joke. Or if it is, it’s not the funny-ha-ha kind and the punch line is probably ‘dead babies’.

Adult prison is a shock for Malik El Djebena, who is just nineteen when he’s sentenced to six years for a crime only vaguely hinted at by the wardens in the prison. Something about beating a cop; the details are unclear. It’s not really important why he’s there – you get the impression Malik’s whole life has been mere preamble in anticipation of prison.

Everything about Malik is vague and unformed. He’s unable to read or write, with no friends, no family on the outside. At times he’s so blank he’s barely present. To the French-Corsican mafia who run the prison he’s just another ‘dirty Arab’, while for the ever-growing French-Arab population he’s just the Corsicans’ whipping-boy. When asked whether he eats pork he answers “No. Well, yeah”, which would be a very neat summation of Malik’s entire character, if neat summations were remotely possible for this film.

Because despite what might sound like a typical rise-and-rise-of-a-small-time-crook narrative, A Prophet’s hero could hardly be more different from the Hollywood criminal-gods of Scarface and Godfather. Malik is neither a con with a heart of gold nor a criminal mastermind. He’s simply used to gritting his teeth and doing the things he must in order to survive. He is clever, but not brilliant; lucky but not divinely fated. There’s tragedy in Malik’s story, and some redemption too, but nothing spectacular about either.

There are several scenes of extreme and graphic violence, in particular one of the most gruesome throat-cuttings since Caché (and considerably more drawn out). Yet Malik’s violence doesn’t stem from bloodlust or ambition, but from the lack of any other option. Even when he begins to rise in the prison hierarchy and learns how to manipulate his many masters, the rewards are meagre. A DVD player and a beat-up miniature fridge bring rapturous pleasure for Malik – details that provide us with a strong sense of the poverty and privations of his background.

Tahar Rehim as Malik is flawless. He is Malik, a bristling mix of innocence, violence and desperation bouncing off the prison walls. The supporting cast is similarly excellent. Moments which in most films would feel sentimental and forced, like when Malik returns to prison after an eventful day of leave at the beach and discovers a trickle of sand in his shoes, are handled deftly and intelligently. A particularly nice moment occurs when Malik goes through airport security, and after being patted down, proceeds to open his mouth and stick his tongue out at the bemused guard.

At two and a half hours it’s a long film, and at times feels it. Towards the three-quarter mark there’s a loss of focus, and though it’s a minor complaint, some judicious cutting could have made this excellent film even better. The sound design also rates special mention. The prison is never silent, a constant murmur of activity providing a white noise accompaniment to every scene. The choice of an unusual cover of “Mack The Knife” feels a little forced during the final scenes, and may have worked better for a non English-speaking audience, but otherwise the soundtrack is pretty dead-on.

This is a dense and intelligent film, which not only stands up to multiple viewings, but demands them.

Zora Sanders is an Arts student at Melbourne University majoring in Cinema and Creative Writing. She was one of the Editors of Farrago in 2009 and has an occasionally updated blog.

→ more articles by Zora Sanders