A difficult-to-classify French documentary, Back to Reims stands as a piercing study of France over eight decades, told through the lens of the working class. The film takes as its starting point the homeowner’s essay by the philosopher Didier Eribon, translating a social memory into moving image. Narration is performed by Adele Haenel, whose clear, steady voice guides viewers through archival material and a careful assembly of voices from the past. The project rests on a conscientious approach to both text and image, balancing historical documentation with a visceral sense of lived experience. Its structure invites viewers to move beyond surface events and consider how ordinary lives intersect with national history, creating a documentary that feels intimate yet expansive in its scope.
The film’s montage of found footage and archival visuals is deliberately coherent, providing a seamless thread through decades of political and social change. Peirot, openly critical of recent French realities, crafts a voice that is both personal and political, a steady counterpoint to the tumult that has characterized the nation. The documentary treats its subject as a living conversation rather than a static record, a narrative that explores how left-wing ideas have evolved, fractured, and sometimes withered under pressure. It also examines the rise of the far right, tracing how rhetoric and sentiment shift across eras and how those shifts influence everyday life. The film charts a period from just before World War II to the present day, yet it never feels burdensome or repetitive. Instead, it breathes with the rhythm of history, letting each era inform the next in a way that makes the overall arc feel inevitable rather than forced. If there is still a place for politically minded cinema that refuses to preach or sanitize, Back to Reims stands as a compelling example of that tradition, a documentary that treats politics as a lived experience rather than a series of talking points.
By foregrounding meticulous research and a humane perspective, the film invites audiences to reconsider the notion of political cinema itself. It avoids flashy polemics in favor of a measured, documentary-based inquiry into how communities respond to changes in economic policy, social norms, and national memory. The project does not seek to hammer in a single verdict but rather to illuminate the tension between democratic ideals and national realities. In doing so, Back to Reims becomes more than a historical document; it functions as a reflective meditation on responsibility, memory, and the ongoing conversation about what it means to belong to a country with a complicated past. For contemporary viewers, the film offers a clear reminder that history is not a distant archive but a living, continuous dialogue that continues to shape politics, culture, and personal identity.