Venice Review: François Ozon's The Stranger Truly Does Justice to Albert Camus' Novel in Film Form

      Nobel laureate Albert Camus is a pivotal thinker and writer in the French language, known for creating absurdist characters and settings that present a distinctive perspective on human existence. His first novel, The Stranger, has been adapted into film twice since its release in 1942: initially by Italian director Luchino Visconti in 1967 and more recently by Turkish filmmaker Zeki Demirkubuz in 2001, titled Fate. Now, a fellow French director has taken the initiative to bring Camus’ words to the screen in a manner that reflects their original tone; perhaps not by chance, this latest rendition is the most faithful and hypnotically compelling.

      Premiering in the Venice competition 58 years after Visconti's adaptation, François Ozon’s interpretation closely adheres to the original story. Meursault (performed by Benjamin Voisin) is a young man residing in French-Algeria. He has a job in an office, frequents local eateries, and tends to keep to himself. We quickly observe something rather peculiar about Meursault when he receives news of his mother’s death. After glancing at the telegram with the unfortunate news, he continues smoking, shaves, and carries on with his day as if nothing has happened. His behavior becomes even more unsettling during his trip to the care home for his mother's burial. Amid the sobbing residents, the son appears not only calm but also confused by the emotions surrounding him. Upon returning to Algiers, Meursault embarks on a relationship with former coworker Marie. A visit to a friend’s beach house with Marie leads to a confrontation with an Arab man, resulting in Meursault killing this literal stranger. During the trial that follows, the judge, jury, and onlookers attempt to understand the unfeeling monster in front of them before determining his fate.

      One of the most significant aspects of Ozon's film is its accurate portrayal of the moral and philosophical complexities that shape its central character. Although Visconti's version was technically impressive and boosted by Marcello Mastroianni's passionate performance, it fundamentally misinterpreted the source material. Meursault is not meant to be empathetic or emotional; Mastroianni's heartfelt portrayal undermines Camus’ detached and shockingly unique worldview. Demirkubuz’s 2001 adaptation made corrections but perhaps leaned too far the other way, making the protagonist seem overtly antisocial or disturbed. Meursault's true essence lies between these extremes; he is not deranged but rather clear-minded, observant, and capable of rational discourse. However, he chooses not to live a life guided by emotions, beliefs, or conventional ethics. His relationship with Marie is based on physical attraction; he desires her despite finding the concept of love meaningless, even telling her so. He offers no defense in court—not due to remorse for his actions, but because the thought of execution does not trouble him. His moment of genuine enlightenment occurs while in a death cell when he feels united with the "tender indifference of the world."

      Thanks largely to Voisin’s exceptional and precisely measured performance, The Stranger successfully captures all of these nuances. Except for a late scene with a chaplain, Voisin's depiction of Meursault is marked by extreme restraint—he rarely raises his voice and displays little visible emotion. However, his performance is neither mechanical nor void; it reflects a deeper understanding of the character that transcends the text. In the straightforward, unembellished manner he agrees to marry Marie—not out of love, but from indifference—one can observe the lack of malice in a man whose words can inflict pain. When Meursault faces the prosecutor’s vigorous questioning in court, a fleeting look of confusion, rather than indignation, reveals someone almost too innocent for the harsh realities of life.

      Ozon’s direction reveals the intricacy of a text that appears simple at first. It immerses the viewer in the protagonist’s thoughts, providing a deeply subjective first-person perspective, while also maintaining a feeling of distance and alienation. This duality of being intimately involved yet somewhat removed from the events effectively mirrors the experience of reading Camus' work. Shot in elegant black-and-white by Manuel Dacosse, The Stranger possesses a timeless aesthetic and a dreamlike quality that keeps the audience engaged. Complementing the stunning visuals, Fatima Al Qadiri’s intriguing, at times eerie score enhances the sense that something is amiss in this seeming paradise.

      The only extra narrative element Ozon incorporates in his adaptation focuses on the victim's sister. While Camus’ novel portrays her as a passive figure inadvertently triggering the events leading to the murder, the new film invites the audience, through two brief yet impactful scenes, to consider her perspective. The final shot of the film, in particular, highlights the underlying racial and colonial tensions, adding another subtle, poignant layer to Camus' exploration of