“A fascinating study of class hierarchies and communication between cultures, as well as a reflection on the power of the image, this strange journey of a painting stands as one of the year’s best.”

“What a strange journey you’ve made.”

Les Indes, the debut feature of Swiss directors Pauline Julier and Nicolas Chapoulier, is a film caught between two royal courts. Inspired by a true historical fact, the period piece delves into a number of themes that are extremely current: the class differences between elites and the everyman, the effects of colonization of the New World by the Old World, and the lawlessness of war. Shot in Academy ratio by cinematographer Sylvain Verdet, it is fitting that a film in which the defining object is an image is primarily told through its visuals. Its fairly common narrative premise of an odd pairing (or in this case three people) forced to overcome their differences in order to survive is not what will attract most viewers to this film. The deeper thematic layers and the stunning, at times painterly images are what turn Les Indes into a minor masterpiece of saying much with little, and letting the language of cinema carry it.

The Spanish royal court, mid-17th century. Renowned painter Diego Velázquez paints a portrait of a young Maria Theresa, an ‘Infanta’ (‘child’ or princess) of Spain. The painting, a now famous work of art on display in the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna, has historical value outside of the mastery of Velázquez. It was part of a peace offering made by Spain, entangled in a lengthy Franco-Spanish War, to the French court of a young Louis XIV, along with an offer of marriage. This wasn’t an age of swiping left or right; the painting had to undergo an arduous journey across the Pyrenees to the Versailles court. Les Indes tells that story, of three men with a task of great importance that was doomed to fail. Jehan (Raphaël Thiéry) and Antoine (Lazare Minoungou), two gruff and seasoned French soldiers, are accompanied by a nobleman of the Spanish court, Don Alejandro de la Sierra (newcomer Théo Urtubey), a refined young man with dreams of adventure and a love for songbirds. As they trek across the arid, semi-desert landscape of Bardenas Reales and the foothills of the Pyrenees, a tentative bond is formed between the men, out of necessity, but also curiosity on Alejandro’s part. His relationship with Antoine, a black man whose tongue has been ripped out, develops over Alejandro’s initiative to learn the man’s sign language.

The three working out their differences and Alejandro crossing their class barriers is imperative, as they soon enter the lawless lands of the French Pyrenees, where bands of brigands turn their journey from arduous to perilous. “There are no more countries here,” Jehan explains during a brief respite in the safe haven of a mountain village. Alejandro gets exposed to the rites of a different culture, his youthful sense of wonder entranced by the attention of a group of young women who seem almost alien to him. These are the last moments of joy, as their descent into hell begins.

Touchstones for Les Indes are films like Lisandro Alonso’s Jauja, Felipe Gálvez Haberle’s The Settlers, and to some extent also Théo Court’s White On White and even Lucrecia Martel’s Zama. All films that are centered around or feature grueling journeys through an inhospitable landscape. But there is a more thematic reason to look at those films in relation to Julier and Chapoulier’s work: the films, certainly the first three mentioned, all show the devastating brutality of colonization of the New World by the Spanish empire. Alejandro’s naive, rosy dreams of conquering and colonizing new lands abroad are reflected in the reality of this small canon of films that examines the consequences of those dreams. The film’s title seems to be taken from a similarly titled book Alejandro reads during their journey, which is likely the account of Spanish explorer and historian Bartolomé de las Casas. Ironically, Las Casas’ work describes the atrocities committed against the indigenous people of Hispaniola, but what Alejandro takes away from it is the adventure and the exoticism, illustrated (quite literally) by paintings and illustrations of life in the colonies, all colorful and blissfully peaceful. What such thirst for adventure by the nobility can lead to contrasts starkly with Alejandro’s imagination.

Les Indes also examines class differences and the indifference of the elites, in this case both the Spanish and French royalty, towards those below them on the societal ladder. Jehan and Antoine, both lower-class foot soldiers, give their lives protecting not just the painting of the Infanta but also the noble Alejandro. The future Sun King and his extended family, however, care little about their French soldiers, and this is masterfully illustrated in the film’s final scene. We see the painting, after having reached its destination and having brokered in some small way the peace between France and Spain, being stored away with dozens of other works of art. The line that opens this review, spoken by what seems to be Louis’ mother Anne of Austria, is about as far as the consideration of the royals goes when it comes to the suffering of those they reign over. In an age where Big Tech is eager to breed a new generation of Sun Kings, films like Les Indes also serve as a reminder of how little those at the pinnacle consider the plight of others.

Julier and Chapoulier render this almost traditional ‘strange bedfellows’ story through evocative imagery with the help of Verdet’s lensing. Shot entirely on location under tough circumstances, the difficulty of the journey can be felt in every frame. The aforementioned Jauja, shot in the same ratio, is the closest comparison visually, both films using that ratio to accentuate the unforgiving nature of the environment the characters move through, the vastness of the lands paradoxically hemming them in. Another recent film that does this is Hlynur Pálmason’s Godland, during the protagonist’s trek through the remote parts of Iceland. Les Indes is often visually stunning in its portrayal of the harshness of both land and man. But it’s not just the imagery that lingers after viewing the film; its tragic story of three pawns playing their part in history, important yet instantly forgotten by those ruling over them and in the long run by those writing the histories, is thoroughly engaging in its minimalism and its empathy for the central characters. A fascinating study of class hierarchies and communication between cultures, as well as a reflection on the power of the image, this strange journey of a painting stands as one of the year’s best.