Over the past 76 years since the Cannes Film Festival was first founded, the annual event has produced several cinematic constants. Until his death in 2022, Jean Luc-Godard could be expected to win some type of award (mostly for existing), a great film would predictably be booed and the Dardenne Brothers would release a new movie. Indeed, the Belgian filmmaking duo, comprised of Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne, have produced together some of the most consistently acclaimed films to hit the festival since they first gained worldwide attention for 1996’s masterful Le Promesse. Amongst other honors, the brothers have twice won and been nominated seven additional times for the prestigious Palm D’Or. In Luc’s own words: “We choose to put people who are invisible at the heart of our story. And we did that in order for people to see them and talk about them.” Their vital filmography is built around lifting up the stories of immigrants, fostered children, working class life and those existing at the fringe, and yet a significant portion of the audience for these political and humanist films is consistently expressed through the wealthy patrons of a lavish and notoriously elitist festival. Perhaps that’s the point, but with Tori and Lokita, it’s starting to wear a bit thin.
The 2022 Palm D’Or nominee Tori and Lokita is another ruggedly naturalistic offering from the Dardennes, spotlighting the story of two underage African immigrants, who may or may not be brother and sister, struggling to survive the harsh conditions imposed upon them as political exiles in an unnamed Belgian city. 16-year-old Lokita (Joely Mbundu), who suffers from panic attacks, attempts to gain a work visa whilst sending money home to her mother and contending with debt contracted through the people who brought her and the 11-year-old Tori (Pablo Schils) to Belgium. She and Tori must also act as couriers for an underground drug ring run by a predatory restauranteur named Betim (Alban Ukaj), who occasionally pushes the vulnerable Lokita for sexual favors in exchange for extra pay. Within this unsparing landscape of overt racism and rejection, Tori and Lokita rely on their emotional bond to push them toward a hopefully better future.
The Dardenne’s latest is easily amongst their most overtly angry and depressing films. Again, Luc’s words spotlight their intentions: “We are angry because too many young migrant minors disappear into [the] underground criminal world’s network. It’s not normal, because when you are legal subject in a democracy, you should be visible, and they’re not.” Their purpose behind this project is noble and politically potent, but the duo’s relentlessly miserable depiction of Tori and Lokita’s journey makes for a difficult-to-justify viewing experience. There’s hardly a moment of joy or levity within the 88-minute film, which repeatedly puts its young protagonists through humiliation after humiliation, all in the buildup to inevitable tragedy. All of this miserabilism is captured in the Dardenne’s trademark documentary-esque style, with handheld camerawork and a total lack of exposition that drops you into the deep end and never pulls you up.
False hope is hardly constructive, and the Dardenne’s refusal to sugarcoat this story is probably the correct decision. Still, the question remains: at the end of the day, who is this movie for? Viewers who are familiar with the Dardenne’s prior work will be treated to more of the same, and it’s difficult to parse where this latest entry in their prolific filmography truly stands out amongst their most notable, and less sadistic, works. With its lean runtime and focus on narrative advancement, there’s little time to engage with Tori and Lokita as more than victims of their circumstances. The ever-encroaching dread seeping over each frame gives Tori and Lokita the feeling of a white-knuckle thriller, but also makes the viewing experience largely one-note. The best and most emotionally effective scene comes later on, as Lokita finds herself in a covert work circumstance that prevents her from seeing Tori. Eating a microwave dinner in the storage locker she’s been given as a temporary home, Lokita stares at a photo of Tori, imagining him there with her. It’s in these few minutes of bleak, serene quiet, that you truly understand the pair’s bond and connect with them, but moments of this depth are missing elsewhere.
There are elements to recommend, to be sure, from characteristically strong performances by newcomers Mbundu and Schils, to an admirably rugged depiction of invisible injustice. This form of social realism comes from a genuine place, and stories like those of Tori and Lokita are depressingly frequent in real life, as well as important to tell. But Tori and Lokita represents the duo, rather didactically, working in a mode of film-as-activism more than film-as-art. The two don’t have to be separate, and in the Dardenne’s strongest work, activism and art go hand-in-hand. If the film can reach beyond affluent festivals and the handful of arthouse-inclined audiences who will view it afterward, then Tori and Lokita, with its blunt and barely concealed rage, may have served a valuable purpose. But for filmmakers as prolific and politically potent as the Dardennes, it’s frustratingly business as usual.
Photo courtesy of Janus Films
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