🌪 1. Premise That Smolders, Then Fizzes Out
Bastards follows Marco (Vincent Lindon), a mechanic turned reluctant vigilante, as he scours Ivory Coast and Paris seeking vengeance for his deceased brother. It’s pitched as a high-stakes cross-continental thriller soaked in simmering grief. What we get instead is Marco wandering between green-carpeted rooms and scrubbed highways, scowling at characters who scurry away after an eyebrow raise. The heat builds… then dissipates like steam from a lukewarm latte.
There’s no tension, no emotional charge—just one man’s silent glare cast across various hotel lobby squares.
👤 2. Marco – Angsty, But Why?
Lindon’s Marco is basically a grimace in designer denim. He broods, he presses people for answers, he cuts them off at the shoulders, and the camera hovers as if expecting fireworks. But fireworks never arrive—just the sound of someone hitting “scan” on volume without cranking anything up.
We’re supposed to empathize with this broken man? Try caring about why he drives 1200 miles but still seems stuck in the same circle of ennui. His motivations feel like a half-written diary entry: “Bad stuff happened. I’m mad.” But without emotional depth, it’s hard to feel anything more than mild indifference.
🎯 3. Plot That Wanders Without Aim
Marco’s quest spans dusty Ivory Coast villages, Parisian underpasses, and some vaguely menacing villa. The plot issues warnings—“What are you doing here?” “It’s dangerous”—but Marco just stares harder. Then he leaves. Repeat.
There are hints of sinister deals, missing organs, war-trauma undercurrents. But the film treats them like optional doodles in the margins, not plot insurance. Scenes end before stakes surface. Each new setting offers opportunity for tension or revelation. Instead, the film ghosts us with ellipses.
🧟 4. Tone: Cool Without Temperature
Denis tries to build a mood of simmering dread—long silences, steady sound design, intentional camera patience. It all pants for atmosphere. But atmosphere without emotion is just… air.
By minute 30, the mood feels like a manicure: neat, precise, far too mellow. A real thriller needs edge—splintering loudness, pounding score, visible nerves. Bastards offers none of that. It’s tense if tense meant “sloth-like stillness.”
🗣️ 5. Dialogue That Says Nothing, Then Less
The script doles out cryptic questions and sparse statements—“We bury the past,” “Tell me about your brother”—but nobody really says anything. Conversations feel like placeholders, not characters engaging. You wait for clarity. Instead, you get more silence. And then credits.
One line might’ve had emotional weight—lost chance, grief, betrayal. But it floats off-camera before it cranes your neck.
📷 6. Cinematography: Meticulously Flat
Denis and her team compose each shot like a stage—symmetrical, precise, and deliberately calm. Ivory Coast golden hour looks astonishing, and Paris neon pools gorgeously. But polished visuals don’t make emotional depth. It’s only when Marco’s face catches light in an alley that you sense real tension. Those moments are rare, and not enough to illuminate the shadows.
🔁 7. Characters Who Don’t Circle, They Orbit
Most supporting cast members feel like satellites who barely orbit the plot:
-
Local fixer gives Marco a hand—mostly for sidelong looks.
-
Underworld heavies speak threats in low tones—but only until Marco exits.
-
Brother’s girlfriend launches grief-anchored lines—then vanishes.
They’re characters by attachment, not action. We know why Marco is on the hunt. We don’t know them. The film never asks us to.
🧭 8. Themes That Stay on the Surface
Themes of colonial fallout, memory, familial guilt… boasted in festival write-ups, but hardly explored here. Ivory Coast scenes could’ve shed light on how past wars connect to today’s grief. Paris scenes could’ve shown how grief echoes in gentrified loneliness. Instead, it gives you a few scenic notes and expects you to orchestrate them into a theme.
Denis’s brand of thematic restraint can be gold—when the emotional ground is there to hold it up. Here it feels like abstract art without anything behind it.
📈 9. Pacing That Tests Patience
At 95 minutes, Bastards is short. But every scene feels 20% longer. Even high-angle shots of empty courtyards sizzle inexorably across the screen. The screenplay’s minimalism translates into viewer fatigue—not immersive calm. Emotional stakes are swallowed by glacial stillness. This isn’t pressure cooker; it’s pressure paused.
💥 10. Final Verdict: Glass-Smooth, Soul-Dry
Rating: 1.5 out of 5 silent vengeance missions
-
Premise: Intriguing setup undone by lethargic execution.
-
Character: Lone man in shock—hard to relate when no thaw occurs.
-
Plot: Shadows without contrast, echoes without echo.
-
Dialogue: Barebones, offering little to grab onto.
-
Execution: Stylish plating but no flavor beneath.
👀 TL;DR
Bastards feels like a thriller by checklist—not for audience, but for festival boards. It checks off ominous imagery, brooding hero, mysterious violence. But it forgets to inject urgency, nuance, or emotional spark. It looks rich, but it’s polished granite—not lava. If you’re craving a cinematic heart attack with weight, don’t take this quiet train. It might be smooth—and it sure is beautiful—but you’ll step off wondering why you were even on the ride.