Director: Veerle Sara Anna Meijaard
Writer: Veerle Sara Anna Meijaard
Cast: Oskar Wolf de Gruyter, Naud Clinckers
Running time: 18mins
Writer-director Veerle Sara Anna Meijaard says in her director’s statement that she likes stories that “show what people don’t usually see in everyday life, the hidden, broken, and forgotten parts”. She has certainly pursued that to a very literal end with Le Sous Sol (which roughly translates as The Basement) – which follows a subterranean hermit, making his home in abandoned tunnels underneath modern Brussels.
A man in his late 20s, Zeno (Oskar Wolf de Gruyter) has withdrawn from society for reasons unknown. He lives in a forgotten alcove beneath the city’s metro system – which presumably he has tapped into for a power supply to keep his cave’s mood-lighting humming away. Beside a bed, table, carpet and lamp, Zeno is living light – only rising from the depths to steal food from the local convenience store, or pilfer trinkets he thinks might make his home a little more personable.
It is unclear why he has chosen to live this way – and there would have been the temptation for a heavy-handed expository scene. But I don’t think that was necessary in this case: as Meijaard’s script patiently progresses the story, you might very well guess the factors that led him to take up residence in a glorified sewer.
When teenage boy Tuur (Naud Clinckers) enters into the picture, we are treated to a light reworking of the core bond at the heart of Shrek – the alienated and misunderstood ogre suddenly sharing his quarters with a well-meaning, but relentlessly verbose roommate, who gradually peels back the stony layers of his would-be friend, to reveal a soft heart.
When the fast-talking Tuur first follows him back to his lair, Zeno insists that young Tuur leaves immediately – for fear that, were the police to find the youngster there, he would be arrested as a “pedo”. When Tuur persists, claiming he has nowhere else to go, Zeno belittles his ‘homelessness’ as simply a childish dalliance with running away from home. But when his quips about arguments about homework, or PlayStation fail to draw a response from the increasingly quiet teen, something in their dynamic changes.
De Gruyter’s performance is key to working out what that might be – as begrudging sighs and kindness behind gritted teeth give way to genuine warmth, as his face softens toward his new ward, it becomes clear Zeno sees something of himself in Tuur. So, while it remains a mystery as to why he has elected to live this way, when Tuur reveals the reason behind his own retreat from society, things make sense.
There are more melodramatic conclusions we might draw about their relationship. Perhaps Tuur remembers Zeno from somewhere before his descent into the tunnels. Perhaps they are long-lost brothers. But perhaps that doesn’t matter all that much – and what is more important that in their hours of need, they have helped each other, in their own way. Zeno has offered an important refuge; Tuur has offered an equally important bridge through which the former might at least partially reconnect with his sense of wonder, and hope. One day, he might even be ready to ascend permanently.
While audiences might want more than this in a longer outing, in a short – and a student short at that – the light touch is not only enough, but to be commended. Meijaard finds a way to tell an innovative and impactful story. But at no point does she bite off more than she can chew, in terms of greater revelations that might sound great in the heat of the moment, but fall apart as soon as audiences engage with them.
This also allows space for her talented crew to make the technical aspects of the film sing. Art director Silver Tjepkema and Arthur Moelants on camera work wonders, to make what probably wasn’t an underground tunnel at all seem like a cavernous, underground sprawl. If it actually does turn out they filmed in such a place, however, credit is also deserved, because they did not simply rely on having access to the real thing – the framing and composition emphasise the asset of the set at every turn.
And the less-is-more storytelling also means that the special effects of Jules Meyvis have just the right amount of emphasis placed on them. Zeno vaguely defines a lighting-phenomenon he experienced in his childhood – which he has long since given up on witnessing in adult life. But as his relationship with Tuur rekindles his connection to life in the world above, flickering CGI forms morph into his periphery. Had there been more specific or laboured attempts to let us know about what these things might have been, or looked like, would have left some members of the audience picking at the actual delivered visual (as beautiful as the effect is, that’s sometimes just how audiences are).
Less-is-more doesn’t work unconditionally, though. When approaching a story which deals with homelessness, in a world gripped by a private equity-driven housing crisis, finding some way to comment on the situation more critically might have been advisable. It might also have been an idea to find some way to reflect the gravity of the situation that unhoused people face, or even introduce some jeopardy into Zeno’s relatively cushy set-up. As I struggle to find my next apartment in Amsterdam, I can’t help but wonder if there might be a cosy little nook hidden under the nearest train station here – and I feel like that probably shouldn’t be something that comes across as attractive in a story which is otherwise about reconnecting with the world above.
To truly live up to showing “the hidden, broken, and forgotten parts“, then, this film needs to go a little further with its addressing of social issues. But whether or not you might feel Le Sous Sol is a little underwritten when it comes to one of its most central themes, it does manage to deliver an emotionally impactful story on many other fronts. It also displays a wonderful array of talent, which suggests that the future is very bright for Veerle Sara Anna Meijaard and her team.