Jean-François Caissy’s second feature film, Journey's End, is also the first installment in his five-part series on the stages of life. As the fourth part of this series, Kindergarten, which focuses on early childhood in daycare, is set to hit theaters in time for the start of the 2026 school year, it is both disconcerting and comforting to encounter the age group diametrically opposed to these lively toddlers, as we meet the seniors at the Auberge des Caps. Two related works, each focused on opposite age groups, yet connected by the fact that both are filmed in a single, contained setting. With a restrained style and a reserved, non-judgmental observational approach that has become his trademark—and with the subtle support of Nicolas Canniccioni, his longtime cinematographer—the filmmaker casts a sensitive gaze on the everyday routines of these quiet people.

In a cycle that seems as endless as the snow-covered landscape and the expanse of the sea below the headland, Caissy chronicles the passage of time, marked by the seasons unfolding in the calendar’s chronology—like an eternal dance—and, above all, by the repetition of daily gestures and activities. Walking through the corridors of the old motel—endless distances for stiff joints—echoes the endless recitation of the rosary, the rounds to tend to the rooms, the medical visits, the meals; recurring activities, punctuated again and again by the opening of the dining room’s sliding doors, by the residents gathering in the common room, by prayers.

The film constantly shifts between moments of small joys (visits from kittens, bingo games, small concerts, trips to the hairdresser) and moments of melancholy or despair (listening to obituaries on the radio, calling friends to update them on the latest patients and those recovering, the hesitation in fully understanding the nurse’s instructions). The faces often seem torn between a smile and sadness, somewhere between bittersweetness and resignation, although Caissy clearly highlights the quality of the human connection provided by the nursing and support staff, evident in the attention and care they show toward the residents.

The filmmaker is particularly fond of close-ups of the beautiful, weathered faces of these elders, who have lost none of their radiance. And it’s astonishing how the camera’s presence never feels intrusive but remains subtle, calm, and compassionate. Toward the end, the magnificent image of the nursing home at night seems to symbolically sum up the film. This wide shot, encompassing the entire length of the building—dark, with points of light at each door, beneath the vastness of a dark gray, cloudy sky that fills four-fifths of the frame—highlights just how tiny human beings are at the heart of the universe. L’Auberge lies in wait, nestled against the landscape, just as the residents do in their rooms—sitting on the edge of their beds or lying down—amid the ambient silence of their breathing, like the distant rumble of cars on the highway. Waiting for time to pass.

Claire Valade
Critic and programmer