Philibert’s film opens with a choir in rehearsal. A woman leads before her fellow musicians follow her cue, taking up the main theme perfectly in unison. When this fades, a soloist then provides an evocative counterpoint. The rehearsal ends and the chorists set to an eager discussion of the score. The scene is played out in complete silence. This is just the first extraordinary moment among many in Nicholas Philibert’s documentary on deaf people. There is no intrusive commentary telling us what to think and the bulk of the film is given over to people communicating their lives and experiences. The film is full of their stories.
As with Etre et Avoir, Philibert’s skill is in allowing scenes to develop in their own time with a sympathetic eye and ear. He is also good at giving the film its own rhythm. We watch scenes that raise questions – a French and an American girl sign to each other and we wonder if signing is a universal language. Philibert stores up these questions to be answered at some future point, in the film’s own good time.
Deafness is certainly presented as a positive experience. One man remembers the terrible experience of wearing a hearing-aid for the first time, another hopes his child will be born deaf. On the occasions when speech does intrude into the film, as when a deaf couple are trying to rent a flat, it seems a clumsy instrument of communication when set against the elegance of signing, to which a whole being is put in the service of a message. Distinctive also is how alive people’s faces are in their communication.
The ending of the film is signed; it is almost unbelievably elegant and gracious.
A quietly observational and at times magical documentary about a deaf community and the experience of deafness, as told by the deaf. The condition is presented as a positive experience and the film is full of stories. It will appeal to everyone who was charmed by Philibert's Etre et Avoir.