Le Semeur by Marine Francen (review)

In 1851, President Louis-Napoléon Bonaparte attempted to suppress Republican uprisings by imprisoning, deporting, and killing men suspected of opposing his rule. In Marine Francen's 2017 period piece, Le semeur—based on Violette Ailhaud's purported autobiography, L'homme semence—female characters come to terms with the absence of male inhabitants in their Lower Alps French village as they fend for themselves, attending to both physically demanding farm work and traditional household chores. The absence of husbands, fathers, and brothers weighs heavily upon all of them, but perhaps most distraught are the young unmarried women who agree that, without children of their own, they have nothing to live for. With sexual tensions running high, the childless group hatches a plan: if or when a man arrives in the village, they agree to share him as a communal husband. Lo and behold, Jean (Alban Lenoir), a handsome loner strides up and over the hill while the women, in a presumed nod to the Garden of Eden, collect apples in an arbor. He approaches Violette (Pauline Burlet), a main character, to ask for her assistance, and she subsequently finds him a place to stay, brings him dinner, and in return, he shares important information about the Republican resistance with her—knowledge that she, for the most part, keeps to herself. As her friends suspect, Jean is interested first and foremost in Violette, and despite the fact that she was hoping the man that they would share would be "younger," she also falls for him. In a scene that will make French literature enthusiasts cheer, Violette—the only literate woman in the village—seduces the learned newcomer with her ability to read great works of literature. In particular, it is her recitation of Victor Hugo's poem "Prélude" that leads to, pardon the pun, their first scene of intimacy. Meanwhile, the other women have not forgotten their pact and remind Violette repeatedly of her obligation to share Jean with them. Tensions escalate, and, suffice it to say, life in the village will be changed forever. Throughout all the upheaval, however, Francen's cinematography remains measured, punctuated by longs takes of breath-taking mountainous countryside, allowing the viewer moments to reflect upon the waiting all the women experience. Although tragic events befall the women, testing their wherewithal, the film's tone and rhythm remain even keel, almost lulling the viewer into a dreamlike state that renders the pseudo-historical story fantastical. Seasons change, emergencies arise and deaths occur, but the women persevere. At the end of this gynocentric tale, one is left wondering what if any message should come from a film that portrays women who do not need men for daily survival, but who—all the same—obsess over their absence. Neither a feminist utopia about women who reject men nor an androcentric polygamy fantasy film, Le semeur falls ambiguously somewhere in between, ultimately posing more questions about this seldom discussed moment in French history than it attempts to answer.