La Moustache

In a quiet, contemporary world where everyday routines mask deeper uncertainties, the film opens on a tranquil coastal scene that hints at an unsettling undercurrent. The atmosphere is drenched in muted colours and a slow, persistent rhythm, inviting the viewer to feel both the comfort of the familiar and the faint tremor of something just out of reach. It is a tone that balances gentle realism with a quiet, almost surreal tension, setting the stage for a story that asks how fragile our sense of self can be.

Marc Thiriez, an architect whose mustache has become as much a part of his identity as his designs, makes an impulsive decision that will upend his neatly ordered life. The simple act of shaving away this trademark feature feels like a small experiment at first, but the reaction it provokes is anything but trivial. The world around him—friends, colleagues, even strangers—begins to act as if the moustache never existed, leaving him to wonder whether he has altered reality or simply lost his own footing.

Agnes, his partner, becomes an essential mirror for Marc’s growing disorientation. Their relationship, once grounded in shared routines and subtle intimacies, now hovers on the edge of a quiet crisis. Conversations turn ambiguous, gestures turn questionable, and the couple’s once‑steady dynamic feels like a house built on shifting sand. The film captures this strain with a precise, almost clinical visual style, letting the audience sense the slow erosion of trust without spelling out each confrontation.

As Marc struggles to reconcile the external denial with his internal certainty, the story invites viewers into a psychological labyrinth where perception, memory, and identity intertwine. The mood remains contemplative yet tense, offering a portrait of a man whose search for proof becomes a broader meditation on how easily the foundations of one’s world can be called into question by a single, seemingly trivial choice.

Last Updated: August 10, 2025 at 10:06