The Inno­cents

Poland, 1945: a young, French doc­tor breaks Red Cross pro­to­col to deliv­er a num­ber of secret babies. Actress Lou de Laâge turns in a detailed and sub­tle per­for­mance as medic Mathilde, who works in a Pol­ish con­vent recov­er­ing from an ​“inde­scrib­able night­mare”. What first appears as a place of peace­ful refuge that’s far from the bloody car­nage of the front­line is unveiled as hell on earth.

These women were repeat­ed­ly raped dur­ing a three day raid by Russ­ian sol­diers. They ques­tion their faith as their every thought is con­sumed by shame. The Inno­cents is a har­row­ing true sto­ry, so full of sor­row that watch­ing it is a trau­mat­ic expe­ri­ence, but also a nec­es­sary one.

The con­vent is a quar­an­tine, closed off from the sim­ple joys of life dur­ing peace­time. These women are impris­oned by bed­rooms referred to as ​‘cells’ and strand­ed by the fea­ture­less, rolling land­scape which flanks them on all sides. Co-writer/di­rec­tor Anne Fontaine employs rapid edits and frac­tured dia­logue sequences to mir­ror the inner tur­moil of her char­ac­ters. Some scenes are slow­ly place and giv­en a bluish hue, act­ing as a visu­al tes­ta­ment to col­lec­tive depres­sion. The con­trast­ing lifestyles of sex­u­al­ly lib­er­at­ed Mathilde and her devout patients is delib­er­ate. While she kiss­es her naked lover, Sis­ter Maria (Aga­ta Buzek) kiss­es the feet of her crucifix.

Fontaine excels with low-lit visu­als and pro­found dia­logue – ​“Faith is 24 hours of doubt and one minute of hope”. She refrains from but­ter­ing the audi­ence up with unnec­es­sary melo­dra­ma. Her sto­ical female char­ac­ters instead engage in every­day tasks. They wash, cook and clean. It is through their use­ful­ness that they find solace by the end of the film. The Inno­cents – tack­ling rape, war and reli­gion – is an ambi­tious film. The gam­ble is worth it, though, mak­ing for a har­row­ing por­trait of wom­an­hood at war.