La Haine Review

Mathieu Kassovitz began writing on 6 April 1993, the day a young Zairian, Makomé M'Bowolé, was shot dead in police custody, and the anger never cools. Abdel, a young man from the estate, is in intensive care after being badly hurt in custody, the estate has rioted, and Vinz has found the revolver a policeman lost in the chaos. He says he will use it if Abdel dies. On-screen time stamps follow him, Hubert and Saïd from one morning to the next.

Pierre Aïm shoots in black and white, and the estate scenes glide in long takes: a DJ mixes KRS-One into Édith Piaf from his window while the camera floats out over the towers. Vincent Cassel's Vinz rehearses Travis Bickle in the bathroom mirror, Hubert Koundé's boxer carries the film's conscience, and Saïd Taghmaoui supplies the jokes that keep the three from killing each other. The dialogue has the rhythm of real friends trading insults.

The Paris night drifts into episodes, some sharper than others, but the frame never loosens: the story of a man falling from a building, telling himself so far so good, opens the film and closes it. Kassovitz won Best Director at Cannes, and Prime Minister Alain Juppé ordered his cabinet to watch it.