Un Prophéte (2010)

French language crime film “Un Prophéte” (“A Prophet”) is shocking, brilliant, and focuses on a mixed-race youth named Malik El Djebena (Tahar Rahim) as he enters prison a scarred youth barely literate and sacred as a kitten. It turns “Heart of Darkness” quickly, with no “Shawshank Redemption” rebirths in the rain here. This is hell. No bottom.

Malik quickly buckles under the influence of a Corsican gang that runs the prison with absolute control, even ordering the dismissal of guards and delivered whores. The old, cranktankerous gang boss (Niels Arestrup) gives Malik an offer he cannot refuse: Kill or be killed. Malik takes the order, slashing the throat of a suspected terrorist with a gay bent.

This first murder, Malik’s introduction to bloodletting, is shocking, savage, and so “real” it left the audience shaking along with the teenager on screen. Malik falls deeper into the Corsican hole, until he learns to read, and speak Corsican, and then slowly, ever so slowly, turns the tables. It’s a hard task against his Corsican bosses, and the fellow Arabs who share his blood but despise his gopher boy lifestyle.

The film, directed by Jacques Audiard, may or may not be true. Web accounts differ. But it’s absolutely, fully and wholly unforgettable. And I had no idea where “Prophet” was going one minute from the next. The ending is perfect, even at 2.5 hours. I could sit for another 2.5, too. Such gem stories are rare.

My “Godfather” reference back a few sentences is no fluke. "Prophet" aims for the 1972's classic and doesn't quite reach it, but the aim is just off center. Malik’s descent from semi-innocent (his initial crime seems fabricated) to criminal to crime master is as methodical, gut-punching, and gripping as Michael Corleone’s. Rahim’s performance is so natural matter-of-fact, one forgets this he’s an actor. Arestrup is every bit the Brando-like don, an old man on the outside, a monster killer within. But he’s not against doing his own dirty work.

The violence is sparse but savage, maybe more so than any film I’ve seen in years. There’s nothing glorious about the knife or gun play here. Nor the sexual violence. A slashed throat gushed blood in thick, huge spasms of crimson red. It’s sickening. As violence should be.

The title is its own glorious secret, tied to Malik’s first murder and a semi-“LOST” gift that results. That this toe dip into the supernatural feels so utterly real is a testament to Audiard’s handiwork. For now, count this as my film to beat for 2010. A