Cannes Review: Lukas Dhont Places a Queer Love Story in the Trenches of WWI with Coward

      Cinema has repeatedly immersed viewers in the trenches of World War I, to the point where audiences may possess visceral memories of a throat-tightening dread, with screams swallowed by sudden blasts and ringing ears. Of course, it’s all staged, but film's capacity for empathy is well-suited for such immersive experiences from the comfort of our seats. However, like love, war has numerous faces and complexities that cannot be fully portrayed. Fortunately, Flemish director Lukas Dhont has selected this setting for his third feature (following Girl and Close) and his first love story. Coward is one of those provocative titles scrutinized by everyone except the film's main character. Within the Belgian army (on the French side), Pierre (Emmanuel Macchia) and his companions derive pleasure from labeling others as cowards, whether they are enemies or deserters, establishing a clear hero/weakling dichotomy from the outset.

      We engage with Coward closely alongside Pierre, predominantly through his perspective, though it takes considerable time before we hear him speak. Despite this, the unsteady handheld camera work by Dhont’s regular cinematographer Frank van den Eeden maintains a close focus on Pierre, capturing him in medium close-up against the expansive skies—seemingly the purest part of the world at present. The narrative is structured around longer segments in which Pierre encounters a group of soldiers assigned to entertainment duties—the so-called outcasts who perform vaudeville plays directed by Francis (Valentin Campagne). Francis approaches Pierre in a strikingly direct manner that contrasts starkly with Pierre’s reserved and solemn demeanor. In contrast, Francis has crafted a protective shell from his artistic eccentricities—a disguise to shield his queer identity he has always kept hidden.

      Amidst the trenches, it is impossible to be both gay and an individual. Everyone is replaceable, and there’s always another robust male figure ready to shoulder the burden; conforming to the disciplined collective is the only path to order. However, Dhont elevates the experience by incorporating numerous scenes of singing and chanting alongside the daily tasks the men undertake together, creating a connection—however fleeting it may be in war—within which the love story unfolds. Coward candidly addresses the harrowing, nearly unbearable nature of the men’s psychological conditions without resorting to soldiers' depression, breakdowns, or suicides as mere plot devices. Instead, these are depicted as commonplace experiences affecting everyone in the squad. This unsettling normalcy is anything but sanitized—van den Eeden's camera carefully focuses away from dead bodies initially, but as we delve deeper into Coward's subjective narration, the background sharpens, suggesting that Pierre is beginning to grasp the weight of loss, or allowing himself to do so only later.

      In what feels like an alternate reality, Francis—son of a tailor—prepares the evening's entertainment, producing a grand show complete with stage, décor, costumes, and performances for soldiers and higher-ups. Each subsequent performance features increasingly elaborate costumes, from stitched shirts to sparkling dresses and tulle, with progressively sophisticated plots. Francis, who inevitably takes on the lead female role, explores decorative femininity and exquisite drag, matched only by his acting talent. Dhont and his team have once again discovered remarkable newcomers, as both Campagne and Macchia lead the film like a long-awaited waltz we are finally able to celebrate.

      Coward showcases Dhont adapting to period filmmaking while remaining true to his strengths as a writer-director: unearthing the emotional barriers his characters seek to conceal. Within a context like the WWI frontline, the codes of masculinity are undoubtedly more rigorously enforced, but Dhont—whose work carves out space for queerness in strictly heteronormative environments—demonstrates that this very intensity can provide characters with greater freedom. Instead of simply juxtaposing the protagonists' gay relationship against a heteronormative backdrop, the narrative subtly diminishes that conflict. By blurring the lines between restriction and liberation, Coward insinuates that our notions of masculinity are fragile, even in their most rigid forms.

      Coward made its debut at the 2026 Cannes Film Festival and will be released by MUBI.