François Ozon discusses the existential themes in The Stranger, the portrayal of Arabs, and the acting style reminiscent of Bresson.

      Approaching the three-decade mark in his feature filmmaking career, French writer-director François Ozon has explored a vast array of genres: screwball comedies, murder mystery musicals, erotic dramas, thrillers, political films, and more. For the first time, he has tackled a pivotal literary and philosophical text with his adaptation of Albert Camus' The Stranger, featuring Benjamin Voisin as the elusive and tragically indifferent Meursault. The film has received considerable acclaim in France, winning prestigious awards including the Lumière for Best Picture, Best Actor, and Best Cinematography.

      Camus' classic largely resists cinematic interpretation, posing a unique challenge for Ozon in translating the detached existentialism of its notorious protagonist to film. His extensive experience is evident, illustrating why the acclaimed French director is essential for anyone exploring contemporary French cinema. Ahead of the U.S. release this Friday, we spoke with Ozon about his approach to the adaptation and direction of the film, the underlying philosophy, and the modifications he made for modern audiences.

      The Film Stage: You’ve adapted numerous books and plays, but this is your first project based on Albert Camus. What attracted you to adapt The Stranger and to Camus as a whole?

      François Ozon: If you had asked me two years ago whether I would adapt The Stranger, I would have firmly replied, “No. Never.” It is a hallmark of French literature that nearly everyone in France has read. Consequently, there are many potential directors, as every reader imagines themselves directing. When you read, you envision the mise-en-scène, the actors, the scenes. Adapting this book, especially a masterpiece, was never my intention. In my previous adaptations, I often chose lesser-known works, allowing me the freedom to interpret them as I wished. However, the idea for this adaptation arose from a failure.

      I intended to create another film featuring Benjamin Voisin, depicting a young man's struggle with the absurdity of contemporary life, culminating in his suicide. However, we could not secure funding. People found the story too difficult and sad. Some who read my script remarked, “It reminds me of The Stranger,” prompting me to revisit the book I hadn’t read since college. I discovered that its relevance and power were far greater than my script. I asked Benjamin if he felt capable of portraying Meursault, and he was enthusiastic, as was I—we were eager to move forward together. That is how I arrived at this adaptation.

      That’s a significant shift from two years ago to now. How do you take something so abstract and philosophical and translate it into film?

      I found it exhilarating because I appreciate slowness and observation in cinema. It was indeed a gamble to visually represent the abstraction and lack of action in the novel. I was particularly drawn to creating a cinematic interpretation of this book. One approach could have been to rely heavily on voiceover, given that the novel is essentially an inner dialogue. However, I became interested in the idea of making a nearly silent film, especially in the first part. At one point, I thought, “It could have almost no dialogue.” This presented a challenge that especially intrigued me regarding the mise-en-scène.

      Would you consider yourself an existentialist?

      If being an existentialist means questioning the significance of things and the absurdity of the world, then yes. In filmmaking, you constantly reflect on your experiences and ask yourself questions. So, in that regard, I would say I am an existentialist.

      How do you connect with Meursault's existentialism and his perception of life’s absurdity? Do you see his attitude as extreme, or would you go that far yourself?

      I believe at some point in our lives, we all become Meursault. We can experience feelings of detachment from the world and feel like mere observers rather than participants in our own lives. In the film, Meursault resembles a walking dead, almost like a zombie. Yet, in the climactic scene with the priest, his anger finally surfaces, confronting everything religion represents, marking a moment where Meursault is truly alive. Camus’ message isn't one of nihilism but rather of revolt. I don’t think I would have made this film if it didn’t include the pivotal confrontation with the priest at the end where Meursault releases his inner turmoil.

      How do you approach a film differently, both as a writer and director, when the story heavily involves historical context? For instance, Frantz, and particularly in this case, a history that is quite challenging?

      It was crucial for me to comprehend the historical and political context of the late 1930s before adapting the story, as Camus wrote the book in '39 and it was published in France in '42. Understanding Algeria's situation at that time was essential since it was part of France—two of its departments—and the colonial legacy remains a significant issue in France. Unlike the U.S