The Boogeyman From Your Cellar
On the building of a public library somewhere abroad, there’s a slogan in audaciously bold letters: “question everything.” It makes perfect sense: they’re synonymous with freedom of exploration and expression, an inexhaustible source of wisdom for those who know what to look for. I’ve been a devoted reader ever since I can remember, also due to public libraries nurturing intellectual curiosity. But what happens when we start questioning established facts? Who is granted the authority over the truth if challenging it is treated as borderline sacrilege? Philippe Le Guay’s 2021 film “The Man in the Basement” takes this dilemma to its edge, luring viewers into a deep moral vertigo where everything is turned upside down because the system protects personal freedoms, even the licence to hate. The American way of agreeing to disagree gives way to bubbling toxicity. Politesse is replaced by fear and slowly the masks fall, revealing our true nature. What lies beneath is a burning bruise of historical resentments.
The director tests the limits of freedom of speech. To be more precise, specifically in context of right-wing conspiracy theorists and historical revisionists that use the internet as a breeding ground where there are no limits to the harm they can potentially cause to young people who don’t care enough for politics to be able to tell the difference between indoctrination and critical thinking. It’s been quite a while since I’ve seen such a study of the battle for collective identity as opposed to personal convictions, tenderly labeled “my truth” by a certain kind of modern leftists. This time however, the tables are turned. The axis of the story are the succesful architect Simon and Helene Sandberg, a hip Parisian couple with a rebellious teenage daughter called Justine. They embody fashionable stereotypes of the French middle class. An elegant marble fireplace is the centerpiece of their salon with a grand piano while Fonzic is a shabby widower and retired, struggling teacher. Or so he says at least.
The only one missing in this chic tableau is Lilly Collins with her tacky red beret. That’s where the similarities stop: her Emily lives in an attic, while Jacques Fonzic, the film’s antagonist moves in into the basement purchased from the Sandbergs who happen to be Jewish. When they discover he actually lives there, they try to evict him. Here the system, in the effort to keep the blindfold on Lady Justice, again gets in their way. The right to a roof over your head is a basic human right in France, as it should be. An avalanche is unleashed, threatening to destroy everything from Simon’s peace of mind to his marriage and much more. I’ll stop here because I don’t want to spoil it for you. What I will say is that this little cinematic gem is a dark allegory as sharp as a knife. While it’s not exactly the French answer to Gansel’s spine-tingling drama The Wave, it might be the right question.
Fonzic is a staunch racist and antisemite, something that’s initially brushed off but it gets increasingly difficult as his ideas crawl in into the heads of those around him, including Justine who starts to treat him as a victim and an outcast. The pressure increases from neighbors and their alarming remarks about him. The couple is forced to face the complex history of their family and ancestors who perished in Nazi death camps. In a society taking pride in its secularism, this is a condemnation of ignorance. People are smothered by our identity anxiety so much that they neglect to reflect on their traditional cultural roots. We’re all about sexuality, gender fluidity, urban subcultures and parasocial communities revering pop stars almost as deities. It’s all over the place and we’re screen-fed on a daily basis by social media, streaming, fashion trends and celebrity skincare brands.
As a sobering slap in the face, we have that retired, frustrated teacher calling bullshit on the decadence of modern French society that pushed people like him all the way to the bottom, or quite appropriately in his case, the cellar. The place reserved for rats, trash and ironically, a hiding place for Jews in World War II. Guay presents us with an extraordinary reverse of historical roles. Former victims are back upstairs while he, a poisonous sting in their harmonious lives, is underground. As the lawyer explains, they can’t legally evict him since they gave him the key and cashed his check. He enjoys their inability to do what they want because the legal system doesn’t care for their feelings. You almost feel a little bit of joy because if we want the society to work properly, his toxic ethics doesn’t matter. This why you always read the fine print before clicking “I agree”.
The fact that The Man in the Basement has a disappointing score of 5.8 out of 10 at the IMDB means only one thing: its outreach and exposure are criminally inadequate, at least among the mainstream audiences. Though the critical feedback from New York Times, Observer or Roger Ebert pays Guay due respect, that doesn’t mean too much if it’s not on the repertoire of your local cinemas, which are usually outlets for Marvel, Disney and action movies or romcoms. I stumbled upon it because the French Institute organised a screening with an unusually big attendance that evening. Either they were in on it or their AC died so they had to get out of the house before they melt inside. I was completely unprepared for Cluzet’s marvelous performance as Jacques Fonzic. The man was constantly on the verge between a kind but intriguing old man and a demon in a disguise.
Fonzic is the antithesis of the mythical boogeyman because he’s in control and he knows it. In fairytales, antagonists carefully approach their victims because it takes one slip to uncover their scheme. But here, the beast manifests so subtly that you hardly feel it coming. Like vampires, turning into dust and smoke when they’re fleeing the scene. The movie shows a situation like this is anything but fictional, we’re surrounded by this kind of people every day without knowing what’s hiding in their own basements. It’s a wonderful metaphor for all the bottled up rage, fear and anxiety that sits somewhere deep in our unconscious. Neatly folded underneath a pile for your so-called best life, it sleeps until something shakes your balance to the core. The hidden bottle breaks, letting out the genie who sucks out every drop of reason from you until you join him in his basement.
It’s also an allegory of the virtually endless amount of online platforms that feed on our fears and weaknesses, spreading toxic conspiracies, cultivating tribalism and grooming young people into a guerilla for Fonzic’s mission. From Twitter to Truth Social, under the protective wing of freedom, we have an unprecedented access to other people’s minds and intimacy. Just like that roof over your head, online presence is increasingly treated as another essential human right. Where this takes us is entirely a matter of coincidence and peer pressure. A young man once showed me a meme he sent to a friend before he was blocked. It was related to a website that could easily be a secret server from the basement, since it was a platform for racism and xenophobia of the worst kind, with carefully cherrypicked reports of crimes commited by Muslim immigrants all over Europe.
It reminds me of Simon’s daughter Justine (Victoria Eber), who doesn’t have a drop of evil in her blood, but finds she’s got something in common with Fonzic after all. Both feel misunderstood and marginalised, forced to surpress their true identity behind a socially acceptable facade. Of course, he instantly recognizes a potential apprentice for his delusions, but she’s smart enough not to fall for it completely. That young man also wasn’t the target audience for what those people were selling, if his upbringing and family were anything to go by. I know they say the same thing for freaks who leave a body count in school cafeterias in America. But I’ll allow myself this hope, because it happens to be someone I’m close to. Maybe we’re just afraid to look what’s hiding in our own basements? Whatever you find there, make sure it’s firmly chained to the wall. Philippe le Guay wants you to question everything and he’s right. That’s exactly what you should do. As long as that genie is in the bottle, everything is fine. Because he showed us what happens when you don’t learn that lesson on time.
