Venice 2024 review: The Book of Joy (Camille Lugan)

The Book of Joy is a staggering accomplishment, a ferocious provocation of both form and content that dares to peel away the curtains that enshroud supposedly decent society.”

The intersection between religion and social structure is not as tenuous as it seems to be, since we often find that they influence each other in unexpected ways even up to the present day, despite the rise of secularism. In her ambitious directorial debut Camille Lugan sets out to explore this exact premise, crafting The Book of Joy (Selon Joy) as a means to address some fascinating and somewhat disquieting perceptions of the manner in which faith can be both a source of comfort and a weapon used against those who subscribe to a certain set of beliefs. The film tells the story of the titular orphan, who has just reached early adulthood and who works as an organist in a church governed by the priest who took her in and became her adopted father. However, a series of wrong turns leads to her getting involved with a group of petty criminals engaged in a range of small-scale crimes, all under the watch of a vicious matriarch who makes sure to keep everyone in order, as well as taking a keen interest in our protagonist in whom she sees an abundance of potential. A compelling and layered psychological drama that is perhaps most appropriately described as Oliver Twist by way of Gaspar Noé and Julia Ducournau, The Book of Joy is a staggering accomplishment, a ferocious provocation of both form and content that dares to peel away the curtains that enshroud supposedly decent society, revealing the darker and more sinister aspects of contemporary existence, and proving to be an absolute triumph in many different ways.

Despite religion being used as the framing device that bookends the film and informs many character-specific motivations, The Book of Joy is not necessarily a film about religion so much as it is a somewhat daring critique of the extent to which faith guides the lives of people, and how easily they can be led astray the moment they feel like they have been forsaken by their cherished almighty. Lugan very smartly doesn’t make it clear where she stands on the subject, but rather crafts a fascinating and invigorating deconstruction of religion and its place within society. It takes the form of a truly unconventional coming-of-age story, following our protagonist as she navigates that awkward space between late adolescence and early adulthood. It is the most important formative time of her life as she is mature enough to navigate the world, but far too inexperienced to do so without various obstacles needing to be overcome. It’s in this precise aspect that The Book of Joy becomes so impactful, since not only is it showing her personal growth into womanhood through abandoning the folly of youth, but we find that it directly addresses the fickle nature of fate, particularly evident in her growing relationship with a young gang member who is the source of an endless stream of temptations that draw Joy out of her sacred cocoon and force her to explore the world and witness its perils and unexpected delights. All of this is framed through her complicated relationship with her faith, which she never fully abandons but rather repurposes to play a different role in her continued development.

There are many complex themes that propel this film, but it soon becomes clear that the true ingenuity isn’t in the premise, but rather in its execution. Lugan has a clear vision for the structure of the film, which is impossible to pinpoint to a specific style. Instead, she blurs genres in an effort to create a much more complex, engaging work, one that speaks to a number of different themes. The Book of Joy employs a hypnotic and alluring tone, situating the viewer in an uncanny and slightly nightmarish version of reality, one that is recognizable to an extent but gradually grows more eerie the further we step into this story. These characters occupy a destructive world where nothing functions quite as it should, and where chaos tends to reign supreme as a response to the supposed absence of authority. This offers Lugan the opportunity to push this narrative even further than seemed possible at the outset, using it as the foundation for an unhinged love story that blends psychological thriller, crime drama and darkly romantic comedy, all of them coalescing into a single audacious bundle of ideas. Not only is The Book of Joy quite innovative in terms of genre, but it also has a unique approach to tone – a moody, atmospheric piece that relies on small cues and subtle shifts to guide the narrative; we find a specific kind of raw, visceral emotional complexity seeping through, contributing to the uneasy tone that makes it a provocative experience, both in terms of the story and the manner in which it is delivered.

The narrative is built on the concept of carnal desire and the efforts these characters make to satiate their perverse cravings, whether for sexual satisfaction or the excitement of leading a life of crime, both of which relate directly to the intense desires that exist between the two central characters. Tonally and visually The Book of Joy is incredibly potent and proves to be much more engaging than anticipated. A large part of this should be credited to the actors – Sonia Bonny is absolutely phenomenal in her first leading role, finding the nuances in a character that could have been a vague cypher without the right approach. Her character starts as a timid, principled young woman trying to live a decent life, but she gradually becomes corrupted by the influence of those around her, realizing that there is much more to life than the church walls that defined her childhood. The supporting cast is populated by a range of exceptional performances – Volodymyr Zhdanov portrays Joy’s love interest, a young man who is also caught in the conflict between a life of crime and one in which he strives to be an upstanding member of society, the former being the most exciting but the latter giving him a potentially better future. Industry veterans like Asia Argento, an absolute scene-stealer as the den mother to a motley crew of multicultural criminals, and Raphaël Thiéry as the soulful and gentle priest who tries to guide the protagonist towards a decent life, are valuable contributors to the film and shade in some of the more ambiguous elements. Every character in The Book of Joy is defined by a sense of subversion, the director crafting them to directly challenge common tropes usually associated with similarly themed films, all of which are reconfigured to carry more meaning in this context.

The Book of Joy proves to be a major achievement for a number of reasons – it establishes Lugan as an essential and exciting voice in contemporary cinema, introduces us to some very talented young actors who hold their own against a couple of notable veterans of the industry, and most importantly carries a very important message that is both subversive and meaningful. Throughout the film we witness a fascinating and disquieting exploration of the extent to which desperation breeds innovation within a group of individuals who are living in disharmony in an arid urban landscape, scrounging for the sake of their survival and patiently waiting for some way out of having to depend on a life of crime to make it to another day. It’s a simple concept, but one that is rendered as absolutely extraordinary under Lugan’s wildly ambitious perspective, in which she showcases not only her strong directorial style but also a sincere and empathetic approach to the storytelling process, which is oddly more compassionate than we may have initially expected. Subversive and unconventional, but featuring unexpected layers of poignancy and heartfelt commentary, The Book of Joy is an exceptional film both in terms of the themes contained within the story and the process of realizing these audacious ideas. It may sometimes veer towards the overly ambiguous, but it ultimately all comes together and results in a breathtaking conclusion that pulsates with a rare kind of intensity that we don’t often encounter, and which makes it very clear that there is something much deeper and more profound simmering beneath the surface of this fascinating and provoking film.