Review of Monsieur Lazhar (2011) by Edith V — 18 Apr 2012

The sweetly familiar note of your grandfather's detuned piano, subtly but unmistakably askew, a shrill twang that cuts to the heart and tells you it's still there 30 years on. Intoxicating nostalgia for someone ripped from their youth. I know these notes. I've lived them. It's a part of my brain, a part of my being, hidden and inaccessible for decades. A symphony of unique notes living in the recesses of the mind, locked in time, immune to the ravages of the body and unmarred by the numbness of age. A keepsake box sprung open on the carpet of your childhood bedroom. Left there alone in meditation while you soak in the flavors and textures of a world you once knew so well but left so far behind. I was in that schoolyard. I used that very water fountain. These are the kids I grew up with. This is what I knew of life and the world. Where have you been? Let me play with you.

That's just a semblance of the powerfully evocative sights and sounds that Falardeau's film brought to life for me, but the drama should capture and sustain even those viewers who cannot relate to the setting on such an emotional level.