There is only the beach, the lake, the forest and the car park. The men drive into the car park, walk through the forest to the beach, lie naked in the sunshine, swim a little, cruise and have sex in the forest, maybe swim a little more, walk to the car park and drive away.
Franck is a strong swimmer. Back at the lake for the summer, he is young and lean and desirable, comfortable with himself and possessed of easy warmth. Why he speaks to Henri, a large and ill-at-ease loiterer, who himself seems uncertain as to why he is at the lake, is at first a mystery. But over the course of a few days the pair build a friendship based on an instant ability to be direct with each other, and this simplicity holds something of the profound.
So far so French. But when tanned Adonis Michel shows up at the lake, complete with Burt Reynolds ‘tache and an icy broodiness the film shifts into thriller territory, albeit remaining tranquil on the surface.
Told with absolute mastery by Alain Guiraudie who picked up Best Director at Un Certain Regard, Stranger By The Lake emerged from Cannes with a trail of critical praise and it is unlikely that anything else this year will come close to the tension in the dread-inducing third-act. Astonishing cinema.
