note: this is a more formal review which will sound different from my usual ramblings
Set in the Esquirol Psychiatric Hospital facility in Paris, director Nicolas Philibert’s latest film At Averroes & Rosa Parks (2024) is a conscientious documentary that navigates issues of mental health and patient care.
Its two-and-a-half-hour runtime takes the audience through a series of interactions between carer and patient, ranging from simple get-to-know-each-other sessions to patient group discussions on new psychiatry frameworks.
It defies usual portrayals of psychiatric facilities in media – it’s the complete opposite of the cold, sterile environments often depicted in fiction. In fact, these 10 to 15 minute long conversations are interspersed by sunlit shots of the space – hospital hallways, shrubbed courtyards, even their makeshift outdoor café dubbed “La Buvette”.
Philibert’s minimalistic style may be less palatable for those with shorter attention spans, but I find beauty in its languidness. Among the sometimes mundane, sometimes incoherent conversations held between the carers and patients, there’s a slip of something so poignant, so touching it’s hard to believe it was unscripted. It passes as quickly as it comes, but its grip never loosens.
Through these snapshots, we get to know an eccentric bunch: a Muslim man whose dream is to pay taxes, a Buddhist Jew with a vision to change the global educational system, a paranoid yet sincere French grandmother, and many others too. The magic of Philibert’s direction manifests here, in how he wields these conversations to do more than empathise: they humanise, and bring their story to flesh.
The patients are treated as individuals with autonomy and depth beyond their debilitating mental conditions. This radiates from the mutual respect that characterises the carer-patient conversations, in the way their needs, boundaries and ideas are regarded.
In fact, the patients we interact with are often verbose and well read – many of them regularly quote philosophers like Nietzsche, Kierkegaard and Kant, and have profound (but sometimes grandiose) perspectives on different issues. Their lucid dialogue often strikes a universal chord and speaks to our shared human experiences of suffering and joy. It gives us a glimpse into their psyche, while also blurring the lines that separate us from them.
“Do I say I’m in psychiatry every day? No one will ever want me.”
While they possess an acute ability to express their pain points, it seems almost impossible to escape the predicaments they suffer. Some patients remain in Esquirol’s “link” facilities for more than 10 years, unable to secure work or housing elsewhere. It goes beyond simply a physiological or psychological issue – there’s this gnawing feeling that they’re fundamentally incompatible with modern society.
It’s precisely this that makes it ever so haunting, grounding and heartbreaking.
Besides the patients, Averroes also casts a more subtle spotlight on the dedicated caregivers in psychiatry and healthcare. Though the system’s troubles are apparent – exhausted workers and understaffed facilities are the norm – the dedication of these individuals are revealed through quiet snippets of their work.
In a way, Philibert’s direction reflects the very nature of psychiatric work, where observation trumps all. He prefers to take a backseat and treats his audience with a healthy dose of agency, allowing us to engage in thought and interpretation as a personal exercise.
In the days following the film’s screening, there’s a scene that often comes to my mind: a panoramic aerial shot in the beginning, where we see Esquirol’s neat, neoclassical design, characteristic of most hospitals and similar link housing facilities. There are voiceovers by a handful of people watching the footage in real time, and they discuss Esquirol’s architecture. Notably, one of the narrators likened its layout to that of a prison.
In At Averroes & Rosa Parks (2024), we are confronted with the uncomfortable questions and topics that often evade us: What should care look like? What mental health reform is due? Not just in a Parisian or French context, but also what it might look like around us, in our own communities.
- j