Hate is 25 and, like Saïd at the end of the film, we still don’t know how the car got into the boxing hall that night. The doors were too small, but she entered. Magic of the riot. When the Hate entered the cinema in 1995, it must have had the same kind of effect. Since then, it has been there, everyone has seen it, everyone quotes it. Hate emerges in theaters today to seize her chance once again, but it is as if she never stopped celebrating her release, or her entrance, to remind everyone. To be right to exist and to revolt. So, are you still talking to me? Twenty-five years later? Yes. When the Hate was shown in Cannes, Libé said that the “guard of honor” of the cops, in the Festival protocol, had turned its back on the passage of the film crew, to clearly mark its contempt. In fact it is the film which turned its back on the police, by screwing it in the passage: by screwing it, but in the passage. He had better things to do, he was going to the movies, in his beautiful black and white suit, as if to pay him a last tribute. The famous merguez scene on the roof of the building, for example, is filmed like Fellini. Everything else is filmed like cinema. But it’s mounted like hip-hop: with each shot, the cut comes when it’s full. And it’s played like Kassovitz. Hate, at the time, must have seemed to screw the old cinema and to be right. It’s very much alive and very funereal, the 90s, in the Hate. In costume and funeral face. In mourning for the future. Here we are. You’re talking to me ? See you in twenty-five years.
The clothes of Matthieu kassovitz with Vincent Cassel, Hubert Koundé, Saïd Taghmaoui… 1 h 38