Sarah’s Key
I haven’t read the best-selling novel by journalist Tatiana de Rosnay on which this film is based, but going by what director Gilles Paquet-Brenner has produced, my guess is that it would be well worth it. Like most Holocaust films, this will bring tears to your eyes on several occasions. It follows two seemingly juxtaposed stories which come together quite quickly – that of a Jewish family evicted from their Paris apartment during the Vel d’Hiv roundup in 1942, and that of a middle-aged modern-day family planning to move into the same apartment without realising its history. The wife, whose husband wants her to abort a surprise pregnancy (idealists and moralists will enjoy it), is a journalist and it just so happens that she’s currently embarking on a ten-page assignment about this dark event in French history.
Thematically, Sarah’s Key is primarily concerned with truth and catharsis (English students will sigh at the blatant symbolism of the key in relation to these themes). But what the film does, which makes it quite different, is focus on the psychological effects that the Holocaust had on survivors. This seems to be frequently forgotten in films and novels of the genre. Although there are painful scenes of families being separated, the main focus of the war-time scenes is on 10-year-old Sarah’s life journey after escaping Auschwitz, rather than the atrocities which happened there, which are only ever alluded to. Insofar as the plot goes, you more or less know what’s going to happen. The power of the film thus lies not in a shock ending but rather in a building, looming depression which consumes you entirely by the end.
There’s some pretty good acting in the film too. Kristin Scott Thomas makes a great effort in the role of the journalist Julia, and Melusine Mayance (Sarah) is absolutely stunning considering her age. As far as child acting goes, it’s a performance from which I would even draw comparisons to Danny Lloyd in The Shining.
And the moral of the story? It helps not to lock your little brother in a closet when nasty men in uniform come to take you away. Because when you return half a year later the place will probably smell.