Film review: The Free Ones finds humanity at a wood-processing training program for inmates
The Quebec documentary brings a deep empathy and poetic lensing to a story of hard work and redemption
The Cinematheque streams The Free Ones for free from May 14 to 27.
THERE IS A brief moment in Nicolas Lévesque’s otherwise strictly vérité The Free Ones when one of the documentary’s subjects appears to break the fourth wall. Driving a forklift for the first time, he shoots an elated smile at the camera as he zooms between stacks of lumber.
He can’t hide his pride, and we feel proud for him, too, by this point in the Quebec filmmaker’s low-key, nonjudgmental, and quietly empathetic documentary. We've seen how far it's taken Sam, a prison inmate nearing release, to build the trust, confidence, and self-control to get to this point. Taking the wheel symbolizes freedom in a tangible way—especially for someone who had their driver’s licence revoked as punishment years ago.
As we follow a group of male and female inmates spending the last six months of their sentence job-training in a nondescript wood-processing plant called Stagem in the Laurentian Highlands of south-central Quebec, the simple question becomes: Can old-fashioned hard work transform someone with a criminal record and help them re-enter society?
That question finds often metaphorical answers in the mill. Just watch one training session where an instructor helps the workers to identify lumber from trees that were wounded when they were young, and to see where they healed themselves over the years.
This is not the kind of setting that usually finds its way to the big screen. Levesque had full access to the plant for a year, and we get an intimate and nuanced look at not just the focused tasks the prisoners have to execute here, but their inner struggles, from self-doubts to fears of judgment to trauma from their past. In the tradition of direct cinema, the documentary carries a strong social message about the need for rehabilitation and the obstacles that stand in the way of re-entering the job force for people with records.
We meet Sam, who’s had several run-ins with the law but who is determined to make himself vulnerable and gain his freedom again. Then there’s Pierrot, who’s struggled with alcoholism, and the health conditions that hamper his ability to do hard labour.
What comes across is the intense dedication of Stagem’s staff, especially the devoted foreman Alain, who by turns must play factory boss, therapist, coach, parent, and disciplinarian. He’s the guy who has to send someone home if interpersonal conflicts erupt on the production line. At other moments, he and his staff deal with trainees who have relapses or simply don’t show up to work.
Most notably, Jean-Philippe Archibald shoots it all, not with the frenzy of direct cinema, but with a poetic observational gaze that’s more like the way documentary master Frederick Wiseman might shoot the Paris Opera Ballet or the National Gallery. Aerial shots float over the maze of lumber stacks sitting on a white blanket of snow in the yard, or watch from above as a line of workers in hard hats check wood for blemishes.
It is not glamorous work--by nature, it's monotonous--and not everyone will make it through. But for some, Stagem offers a chance for a redemption, order, and responsibility that they've never had. What comes through is that it takes incredibly hard work to help the men and women here find dignity, humanity, and true "freedom"--the same kind of patience, care, and attention to detail that Levesque brings to the film.
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