A hypnotic new adaptation of The Stranger
François Ozon’s The Stranger is an adaptation of Albert Camus’ 1942 novel about a clerk who – spoiler alert* – senselessly murders an Arab in broad daylight on a hot Algerian beach. Why did he do it? ‘It was because of the sun’ is all he can suggest. Existential ennui: that’s what’s at play here, which isn’t generally a great draw at the cinema. It would come way down on most people’s lists. But miraculously, Ozon has managed to make a film about boredom without making a boring film. If nothing else, the radiant black and white aesthetic will grab you from the off and then never let go. Visually, it’s divine. The novel – which was published as The Outsider in this country – opens with the line: ‘Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday; I can’t be sure.
