Alpha’s doctor mom is so overworked, she doesn’t even have a proper name. She is simply known as Maman. As if the porcelain pandemic were not enough for her to deal with, she now must worry about her daughter Alpha possibly contracting it. When the 13-ish teen passed out at party, some unknown party carved a home-maid “A” tattoo into her arm, which quickly developed an infection. Of course, everyone is more concerned Alpha might have also contracted the virus.
To pile even more on “Maman,” she must also care for her younger, drug-addicted brother Amin, who is exhibiting symptoms well beyond withdrawal. Rather ominously, Alpha also starts presenting similar symptoms. That is a lot for Maman to manage, but both of her immature charges do their best to make things as difficult and stressful as possible for her.
As a film, Alpha is a lot, but if it had been any less, its impact probably would have been exponentially diminished. After six years of pandemic allegories, Ducournau doesn’t really have much new to say, but Golshifteh Farahani’s boldly visceral performance as Maman still demands our time and attention. It is an incredible performance that expresses about a thousand different shades of fear, frustration, resentment, desperation, and utter, absolute exhaustion. Farahani is one of the best thesps working in film today, so lets hope and pray she can soon return to her native Iran—and outlive the oppressive Islamist regime that forced her into exile.
To her credit, Ducournau finds a distinctively drab new look for her dystopian vision. Yet, it is hard to escape the fact that greater responsibility would have considerably improved the family’s situation—Maman duly excepted. Indeed, Farhadi is the reason to see Alpha, along with Olivier Afonso & Marine Despiegelaere’s grisly makeup effects, for genre viewers who appreciate such artistry. Recommended for fans of extreme and heavy-handed filmmaking, Alpha opens March 27th, following its screenings at this year’s Rendez-Vous.
