Thomas Cailley’s fascination with revelation, already clear in his comedy of discovery, intensifies in his science fiction project. The film, known as Animal Kingdom, unfolds as an environmental fable about a surge of mutations that turn a segment of the population into animal‑like beings. François, played by Romain Duris, is married to a woman transformed by the process, and he, along with her teenage son Émile, portrayed by Paul Kircher, boards a ship to seek solutions for this new family reality as life shifts around them.
The project’s most compelling aspect lies in the blend of fantastical spectacle with grounded social, psychological, and geographical realism. The director describes his aim as a fusion of genres that can feel intimate and spectacular at once, realistic yet fantastical, and capable of action alongside quiet, thought‑provoking or poetic moments. He likens this coexistence to the tonal richness found in Bong Joon‑ho’s work, where the variety of colors mirrors life itself.
When it comes to influences, Cailley notes that Spielberg and Shyamalan offer a yardstick for human drama that can sustain itself even without fantasy. He cites ET as a film that would work even without its extraterrestrial element, and suggests that the story’s emotional core is amplified by strong editing. The director also mentions Sidney Lumet’s The Place to Nowhere with the Phoenix River and Clint Eastwood’s A Perfect World as films about fatherhood that helped shape Animal Kingdom’s relational dynamics.
Optimism Rather Than Anxiety
At this year’s festival, other French fantastic cinema about animals, nature, and climate captured audiences. Philippot’s new work Acide offers a story about a cloud that menaces the environment, chronicling disasters tied to global warming as heat waves sweep across France. Similarly, Vermin: plague by Sébastien Vaniček presents a variant of the arachnid nightmare, a neighborhood on the city’s edge facing deadly, inexhaustible spiders. Like the creatures in Animal Kingdom, these beings are not pure monsters; they are simply another species fighting to survive in a harsh, unfamiliar world, a point echoed by critics who compare such creatures to the struggles depicted in other modern thrillers.
Does this surge of mutation reflect genuine eco‑concern, or is it the product of a broader environmental awareness? Cailley suggests that the film does not preach eco‑anxiety. He speaks of a world that has grown poorer over time, yet presents an opportunity to imagine the opposite: mutation as a driver of biodiversity, a force enriching the planet rather than diminishing it.
Ambivalent Feelings
Cailley skillfully unsettles the audience by placing viewers in a liminal emotional space. Initial impressions of monstrosity give way to moments of utopian possibility. As the mutants and their onlookers plead for a future, hope takes root in the minds of those watching. A viewer once confided that fear shifted from monsters to the men who created them, a remark the director welcomed as a meaningful reflection.
If a final message exists, it centers on acceptance of difference. The film’s camera is intentionally kept at eye level, and the creatures are granted the gaze. The idea is simple yet powerful: look at one another, even when faces are unfamiliar. The hope is that this mutual recognition can extend to a more peaceful coexistence, with care and understanding replacing fear and prejudice.