by DAVID KERN

Many a tale has employed the archetypal character of the prodigal son, most notably, perhaps, the Bible. From Jesus to Shakespeare to Marilynne Robinson, the world’s greatest story tellers have introduced characters - sons or daughters, brothers or sisters, even spouses - who collected their inheritance, hit the road and, for a while at least, lived according to their own devices. But in most of these kinds of stories, somewhere down the line, famine (literally or figuratively) hits and the character finds himself or herself sleeping in pig slop, forced to share corn cobs and apple cores with future pork chops. I’ve always found this quite the vivid metaphor.

Of course, in the Biblical story the prodigal son returns to his father’s house, to a warm bear hug of a greeting and feast of fatted calf, much to the chagrin of his older brother. What a bittersweet moment this must have been for all involved. The father’s son was home, but his eldest is upset. The elder brother likely would have been pleased to know that his younger brother was safe and alive despite his annoyances. And for the prodigal: well, imagine the many emotions, the confluence of embarrassment and shame and regret and guilt but also relief. Not to mention hunger.

This must have been an awkward reunion. There must have been extended moments of silence and strained conversation, attempts to find out what had happened, where he had been, what all that money had been spent on. Things, guesses, left unmentioned. There must have been long, pregnant pauses; uncomfortable looks; eyes staring down at the veal and veggies.

Sips of wine. There were probably many sips of wine.

And every little thing would stand out. The everyday things, the silence of a near empty house, the sound of dust on the mantles, the sound of sun shining through the half closed drapes. The wind. The sound of silverware (if they used it) clanging. His old bedroom must have been quite the sight. I wonder if the place was the same as when he’d left, pockets full and a heart full of adventure. Some adventure. But here he was. Home again, sleeping in that old room. What would he do tomorrow?

*****

In French filmmaker Eric Guirado’s The Grocer’s Son, released by Film Movement, 30 year old Antoine Sforza is returning to his family’s hometown in Provence, France where he grew up and where his parents and brother still live and work.

Together, Mr. and Mrs. Sforza run a little corner grocery store that serves the surrounding communities with a grocery van that Antoine’s father drives into the country so that the elderly villagers and farmers can more easily buy their groceries. The old man is not necessarily the most friendly old grocer around but he is “helpful” and a hard worker - and, unlike many of his competitors, he is willing to trade groceries for goods, like eggs or cake. He has built relationships with his customers that a regular grocer could not make, he is ingrained in the fabric of the community and in many ways is indispensable to it.

Meanwhile, in the city, Antoine is working in an upscale restaurant as a waiter, living in a small, messy flat, silently brooding over unrequited love for the neighbor girl, Claire, an energetic, intelligent and beautiful student. But, while Claire dreams of going to university in Spain and works hard to make that dream reality, Antoine seems to have no goals to speak of. He is content to work his poor paying day job and loiter about the streets, often sitting in front of his friend’s shop. He has poor people skills, carries himself with an heir of superiority and often wears a sullen look upon his face. All things considered, he’s quite the uninspiring young man.

However, Antoine does care about Claire, and when he discovers that she needs some cash to take the entrance exams for university, he takes a risk and contacts his parents to whom he rarely speaks, but who are willing to loan him the money Claire needs. When he hands it over she is overjoyed and we finally see some semblance of a smile on his face.

But, soon after the film opens, we learn that Antoine’s old man has had an heart attack and his mother is left to run the store and van by herself (the older brother, Francois, runs a salon and has plenty of his own problems to tend to). So, ever the pragmatist, Antoine, sensing an opportunity to repay his parents the money he owes, heads home, bringing a grateful Claire along for a summer vacation in the country.

It’s been ten years since Antoine has been home and he didn’t leave, nor is he returning, on the best of terms. There is no bear hug and no fatted calf. Though there is a bitter brother and many awkward pauses. We are not told exactly what prompted him to leave town in the first place, but it is clear that he rarely speaks to anyone in his family, especially his dad, except in the case of an emergency. But this is an emergency and so he there he is, forced to take over the store for his father, forced to face the place and people he once spent so much energy leaving.

To his chagrin, Antoine finds the business in poor condition: the van doesn’t start, his parents have descended into what he considers poor business practices and business is lacking. So he takes it upon himself to right the ship.

Having repaired the van, he begins to take the daily trips through the neighboring villages and countryside where his father has sold groceries for so many years. Soon he is reacquainted with the people he knew as a boy, although many of them are quite old and eccentric now. There is an elderly man who barters in eggs each visit, an old man who uses his fading ability to hear to pretend he can’t correctly hear prices and a woman whom Antoine and his boyhood friends used to spy on when she rendezvoused with mysterious men in her mountain house. She still harbors a grudge against him. These are charming, simple people for the most part, but the grocer’s son has no patience for their way of life, the easy-going, traditional ways his parents have bought into. He is brusque and short with them: he rarely says “thank you” and is a miser with money, even charging a woman for a prayer.

But when the ever cheerful Claire decides to tag along for a day trip, their relationship begins to blossom and her sunny and friendly disposition - not to mention the beautiful Provence countryside - begins to wear off on Antoine and he slowly, but surely, begins to recognize the truth that there are more people in the world than he.

Soon, Antoine, faced with the reality of familial and relational conflict, is forced to reckon with his own cynicism and desires contrasted with the very real, painful struggles of those around him. Life is hard, he discovers, for everyone. He’s not the only one whose life hasn’t gone according to plan. Not surprisingly, in the film’s final act, he is forced to decide whether he will act on his own behalf or on behalf of those close to him: whether he will accept the challenge of living a life he had not foreseen for himself in order to make life easier for others.

The Grocer’s Son is a simple film with a simple story. But in that story’s rendering the film is pure magic. Guirado and co. have crafted this poignant tale of a prodigal son with a pastoral and expert eye. Guirado’s camera gracefully follows Antoine and his van through the gorgeous countryside, evoking the fluid value of nature. Neither nature nor human beings are static and we experience neither life nor the world around us in a static fashion so, therefore, neither does Antoine. In fact, one could say that The Grocer’s Son is about movement and metamorphosis. Sometimes they just happen, but sometimes we are forced to decide whether we’ll water a plant or the cut grass or eat well. Guirado’s film is about deciding to do those things. And it’s about the decisions that arise when you decide to let the plant die or the yard go or eat poorly.

But most of all, its about home and the way home isn’t static either. For better or for worse, people change and places change and the old bedroom will never be the same as before. But maybe it’s better that way. Maybe the old dusty mantles should sound different, maybe a different sounding sun is better. Could be that it just takes the eyes to see that empty house in the right light. Maybe adventure ain’t all its cracked up to be.

Trailer for \"The Grocer\'s Son\"

David Kern, the editor-in-chief of Into the Hill, isn’t static either. But his email address is: contact him at david@intothehill.com.

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