Some films leave an impression. Others leave a scar. The Devils (2002) is the latter. I chose it without knowing exactly what to expect, but from the very first scene, I was completely drawn in.
The film wastes no time in immersing the viewer in its world—two silhouetted children, a boy and a girl, sneak into a house under the cover of darkness. Their body language is tense, and their movements are cautious. There is no exposition, no setup—just raw, immediate storytelling that pulls you straight into their reality.
The film carefully reveals details about their personalities—Joseph (Vincent Rottiers), the boy, is streetwise and protective, while Chloé (Adele Haenel), the girl, is different. She doesn’t speak, has nervous tics, and interacts with her surroundings in a way that suggests a condition like autism. And yet, Joseph understands her—not just in how he watches over her but in how he responds—his patience and reassurance.
The Devils (2002) – Trailer
One of the most striking moments early on is when Chloé rearranges scattered objects into the shape of a house with incredible speed and precision. It’s mesmerizing, almost unsettling—her movements are frantic yet deliberate, her mind working at a pace that others can’t match. Joseph watches, not with confusion but admiration. That admiration is reinforced in a beautifully framed close-up of his face—harshly lit, his expression caught somewhere between wonder and quiet understanding. What unfolds is a story that defies genre conventions, blending blistering social critique with heart-stopping intimacy.
Vincent Rottiers carries the film with a magnetic intensity. His performance is a live wire of contradictions: tender yet feral, protective yet self-destructive, resulting in one of the most emotionally raw portrayals of troubled youth I’ve seen in Coming-of-Age cinema. There’s a scene early on where he gazes at Chloé with admiration that flickers between brotherly devotion and something more unnervingly primal—a tension the film leans into without ever cheapening.
He reminded me of Robert Naylor in Dix et Demi and Harley Cross in The Boy Who Cried Bitch—both actors are known for their intensity—but Rottiers brings something even more layered. While each performance is distinct – Naylor’s with its raw authenticity, Cross’s with its psychological intensity – Rottiers’s performance is different—it’s more layered, driven by his relationship with Chloé, making him both heartbreaking and unpredictable. Somewhere along the way, Joseph’s tears came, which broke me wide open, the tears in my eyes echoing his as I watched the movie. When his character erupts into violence in some of the later scenes, his face contorts not with the shattered despair of someone out of options.
Adele Haenel’s portrayal of Chloé is equally stunning yet entirely different. Watching her jittery, untamed energy spilling out in every restless movement results in a vivid and haunting performance that my chest tightened just watching her, marveling at how she embodies Chloé’s fragile fire with such aching precision. She barely speaks, yet her body language says everything. Her trust in Joseph, clear as she curls under his bed in one of the scenes, becomes the film’s emotional heart—a beautiful and devastating bond.
Beyond its performances, The Devils is a film that refuses to offer easy answers. It explores the kind of bond that isn’t easily defined and doesn’t offer easy answers or clean resolutions. Instead, it forces you to sit with the discomfort, to wrestle with its moral complexities. The relationship between Joseph and Chloé shifts and evolves, leaving room for interpretation. Are they siblings? Are they something more? The film never gives a definitive answer, and that ambiguity works to its advantage. This is a story about two children trying to hold onto each other in a world that keeps pulling them apart. The film makes you question what home means, what love looks like without safety, and whether survival itself is ever enough.
The cinematography shifts between intimate close-ups—especially on Joseph’s face, where admiration for Chloé is often evident—and stunning wide shots like the aerial shot of Joseph and Chloé running through a lavender field—two small figures swallowed by a sea of purple. The contrast between these expansive shots and the film’s grittier, more confined moments adds a layer of emotional weight to their journey.
One of The Devils`s strengths is its screenplay. It’s unpredictable, constantly shifting in ways that challenge the viewer. The direction is taut yet poetic, the editing propulsive yet intimate, and the societal critique razor-sharp.
Having seen many character-driven Coming-of-Age films with intentionally slow story development, I enjoyed The Devils‘ relentless pacing. Every scene moves the story forward, developing both the characters and the questions surrounding them.
The film’s director, Christophe Ruggia, does not hold back. Some scenes are difficult to watch—not because they are violent, but because they are uncompromisingly real.
The film’s score is as dynamic as its storytelling. One moment, a delicate piano melody lulls you into a false sense of calm. The next, a sharp rap beat jolts you awake, mirroring Joseph’s restless energy. The music never manipulates—it amplifies, shaping the film’s tone without overwhelming it.
The Devils doesn’t just tell a story—it immerses you in an unrelenting emotional journey, daring you to look away but knowing you won’t. It’s rare to see a film that captures the beauty and brutality of growing up with such honesty. For fans of bold, emotional cinema, The Devils is a must-see. It is a Coming-of-Age story that refuses to romanticize youth. Instead, it stares unflinchingly at the cost of growing up in a world that offers no soft landings. Watch The Devils, let it seep into you, feel its raw, beautiful weight—I can’t recommend it enough.
