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The French expression “Vingt dieux!” (“Twenty gods!”) essentially means “Bloody hell!” As the title of Louise Courvoisier’s debut feature, it has been translated as Holy Cow — a neat equivalent since whenever we hear the phrase in this film there is, as often as not, actually a cow or calf on screen.
Set in eastern France’s Jura region, this is a boisterous piece of rural realism about a carefree, clueless teenager who must grow up quickly when his alcoholic father is killed. Left alone with a young sister to raise, Totone (newcomer Clément Faveau) is convinced that, by quickly boning up on dad’s craft as a cheesemaker, he can land a generous payout for a prizewinning Comté.
Courvoisier plays this situation partly for laughs, partly for poignancy, but keeps it rough-edged, casting enthusiastic, extremely convincing non-professionals. Faveau — ruddy, rangy and entirely uninhibited — is a terrific find, as is Maïwène Barthélémy as the more worldly-wise tough girl from the neighbouring dairy farm.
The film manages to make Totone oddly likeable despite his flaws. He is irresponsible, exploitative, sometimes thuggish; an abusive lover, and a thief who lets his friends abet him, then lands them in deep water. But, as played by Faveau, he is a genuine picaresque anti-hero, exuding the sweaty, flustered energies of life.
From the minutiae of cheesemaking to the uproar of the climactic stock car race, Holy Cow is a prime example of the way that French realist filmmakers tend to roll their sleeves up and plunge deep into the lore and the mores of their chosen subjects (Courvoisier is herself from Jura, with several family members involved, including a brother and her parents collaborating on the sparse, lyrical score). This is not necessarily an outstanding or unusual production as contemporary French realism goes, but it is robust, enjoyable and unsentimental — the good stuff, raw and unpasteurised.
★★★★☆
In cinemas now