Moulin

As always in Nemes’s films, the period detail is so enveloping it feels utterly natural. But his great gift as a director is his facility for portraying 20th-century European history as a great grinding machine, into the blood-stained cogs of which anyone might have found themselves dragged.

Heroes are often given big speeches and major acts, but heroism is finally defined in Moulin as saying nothing and doing nothing – resisting with the full force of your body and your mind.

As that battle settles into stalemate, “Moulin” maintains a somber keel, never curdling into bleakness or hagiography. With escape and release dim prospects, the film plays as a controlled study in self-control — unpacking a form of resistance divorced from action and a kind of fatalism born of genuine hope.

As a work of historical fiction, the film strikes a resonant chord. Bleak in its relevance today, it’s an intense watch made compelling by an extraordinary lead performance at the center.

At all events, [Nemes] undoubtedly brings impeccable craftsmanship, and the performances and production design are strong.

The film is simultaneously unadorned and deeply oppressive, staying close to the historical record (while fictionalizing the circumstances of Moulin’s eventual death, or martyrdom) in a fashion that offers little perspective, beyond a humanist call-to-arms and appeal toward remembrance.

In disregarding the much more interesting machinations of the Resistance in favor of shrouding his protagonist in a thin cloak of importance, Nemes’ pompous drama ultimately loses sight of both the audience and its thesis, all while patting itself on its self-aggrandizing back.