J’ai tue ma mere/I Killed My Mother (Dolan, 2009): Canada

Reviewed by Skylar Harrison. Viewed at the Santa Barbara International Film Festival, Metro 4 Theatre.

Thoughts from Hubert Minel’s (Xavier Dolan) high school teacher, aka Skylar Harrison.

My student killed his mother right in front of me. There was no blood, only words. He stood right in front of me, and with his deeply expressive eyes, stared at me, opened his mouth, and killed his mother. Yes, Hubert’s dark brown eyes are dangerous. Those eyes make you want to sympathize with him, a killer, in any situation, no matter how ignorant or stubborn he is. It wasn’t until his mother stormed until class, dressed in an elaborately colorful and eccentric outfit that I realized Hubert is merely a fictional killer and liar. He simply told me his mother was dead in order to avoid a mother, student project. I actually don’t blame him; the way she stormed in any student would be ashamed. No, this is not true. That’s simply Hubert’s voice resonating through my mind. I suppose it is my job as a teacher to provide insight on my students. Family is a part of who you are; to be ashamed of them is to be ashamed of yourself. Hubert is ashamed of himself. Hubert has a literary and poetic soul tainted by childish hate.

Hubert’s one of those rare students you stumble upon every few years. One that struggles but knows no other way than to release it through art. Hubert’s the kind of student who I suppose, when not escaping to his boyfriend’s home, sits in his bathroom and films black and white video confessions. Words are his talent. Hubert, as a sixteen-year-old boy, is simply sophisticated art yet caught up in naive teenage angst and hate. Once Hubert overcomes this hate, he will go far. He’s the kind of person that will probably end up writing, directing, and starring in his own film at nineteen.

But before I get too ahead of myself with planning a student’s future, it is his hate that concerns me. After blatantly and loudly hating and spiting his mother, she has decided to send him to boarding school. Forced to leave his boyfriend, home, and any sense of hope, I’m positive this will not be the way for him to flourish.

I found him outside my house last night. Yes, I let him in against my better judgment. He is so beautiful, until he picks up an incoming call from his mother. Simply from his tone, he makes you cringe at the memories of any hateful words you regret ever saying to someone who you know you loved, but had a difficult time loving. At times it’s hard to bare, his hateful words, yet somehow it only makes you empathize with him even more.

Whether boarding school will restore his relationship with his mother, mean the end of his romance with his boyfriend, or simply nourish his resentment, is unknown. All I can do is leave him with words, not mine, but of my favorite French author. Perhaps he will open the book to the perfect page, whose words will heal him, and his newfound understanding for motherhood will soften him. With a book as a parting present, I let him leave.