In the Chiaroscuro of Tunisian Cinema, Some Figures Remain Etched in Memory Like Flashes of Light Cutting Through the Night
In La Mort Trouble, directed by Ferid Boughedir and Claude D’Anna, Ali Ben Ayed dominates the screen with an imposing presence, acting as an axis around which the entire film seems to revolve. Through the hypnotic power of his gaze, he turns manipulation into a subtle cinematic language. His posture crystallises a permanent tension and provokes an almost unsettling fascination.
For a long time, La Mort Trouble was considered a lost film. Rare and experimental, it achieved a modest success in France but remained virtually unknown in Tunisia, despite its Tunisian co‑production by Cotudic. Today, it stands as an essential work for understanding the cinema of the late 1960s—a moment when avant‑garde and inner turmoil meet.
The film tells the story of three nieces who poison their uncle, believing this will grant them a form of emancipation. In vain. Authority shifts, incarnating itself in more insidious forms. On an isolated Mediterranean island, the trio descends into a world where social rules fade and reference points become malleable.
Their servant seizes power, imposing a terrifying grip. Between transgression and audacity, La Mort Trouble scrutinises the obsession with supremacy and the strangeness of human behaviour pushed to excess. Hierarchy and manoeuvres intertwine in a cruel ballet that inexorably leads to madness.
The film can be linked to later landmark works such as Parasite (Bong Joon‑ho, 2019), La Grande Bouffe (Marco Ferreri, 1973), Funny Games (Michael Haneke, 1997) or Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom (Pier Paolo Pasolini, 1975) – movies that, each in their own way, destabilise and probe human sensibility.
Ferid Boughedir and Claude D’Anna met on the benches of a school in Tunis, long before they collaborated on this film. Their friendship was nourished by a period of intense ferment: post‑colonial Tunisia, the events of May 68, studies in Paris, an opening to the world, a passion for cinema, and an interest in painting, theatre, philosophy and psychoanalysis.
La Mort Trouble is the work of a youthful generation that wants to show everything, emerging vibrant, full of ardour and freedom. The film questions established frameworks and plunges into existential doubt. Its disturbance mirrors that of an era where certainties crumble. The directors deliver a feature that departs from classic narration and comforting logic.
The movie unfolds through almost surreal sequences, imbued with theatricality and symbolism.
Surprisingly, every scene was shot in a single take, constrained by limited time and resources.
This originality in staging and creative freedom also manifested in the arduous casting process.
According to Pete Tombs, Jean Rollin gave valuable assistance to the two filmmakers, notably by recommending Ursule Pauly. To complete the cast, the duo resorted to a singular method: at the time, the magazine Cinémonde published small classified ads on its back page, and the directors slipped in a call to recruit actresses interested in a shoot in Tunisia. Numerous applications poured in.
Their “office” was reduced to a tiny room with two desks and a toy telephone bought at a market, wired to a cord under the door but with no real connection.
During auditions they simulated conversations with imaginary producers, creating the illusion of serious financing. In the end they hired two young women who never returned to cinema, leaving behind a fleeting yet indelible memory in the history of the film.
Beyond these unconventional behind‑the‑scenes anecdotes, La Mort Trouble unfolds as a singular cinematic experience.
The film belongs to the lineage of subjective cinema. Inspired by the reflections of Merleau‑Ponty, Boughedir’s and Anna’s cinema explores how the inner gaze shapes lived reality. The world bends to the interior states of the characters.
What might seem “normal” becomes subtly skewed, questioned by a mind in crisis. The island functions as a micro‑cosm, revealing mental confinement, a bourgeoisie clinging to appearances, and a difficulty in breaking with the legacies of the past. Cut off from the continent and deprived of communication, the characters find themselves in a claustrophobic setting that gradually reshapes their relationships, allowing the absurd and the violent to surface.
Death, ever‑present, becomes a diffuse presence—a questioning of existence and the human condition. It is the end of a state of the world. Death is a concept, not an event. The film treats death as an absence, a silence.
The film’s provocation attacks the symbolic pillars of society: respect for the dead, religion, family morality and social order. By overturning these reference points, the movie highlights the precariousness of the foundations that govern our lives and exposes the intensity of subversion.
In this film we first live the situations before we understand or analyse them. Heat, the presence of the corpse and endless waiting shape the characters’ reactions before any ethical consideration.
The characters express their emotions through gestures and sensations. The film thus shows how sensory experience can precede and sometimes short‑circuit reason.
In La Mort Trouble, the corpse symbolizes a bygone order, around which a masculine figure emerges, revealing both aggression and weakness. Deprived of structure, the characters let domination and desire surface, recalling Freud’s “original herd.”
The film deconstructs masculine power: what seemed strong becomes vulnerable, and the body reveals both human impulses and the instability of social structures.
La Mort Trouble is therefore a total work: radical in form, ambitious in thought, hallucinatory in language and poetic in its approach to perception and death.
Rare and forgotten, it remains a crucial milestone for understanding the extreme possibilities of cinema. It makes the world tremble before our eyes, forcing us to rethink our relationship to reality, consciousness, human fragility and the beauty of disturbance.
Fadoua Medallel – Tunisian cinephile
