The first thing we see is a birth. Jacques Audiard opens his sprawling, intimidating new film not with a biological birth, but with a birth of character. He opens using a technique he calls "La Mana Negra," in which he blacks out most of the screen except for one distinct image he wants to highlight, akin to the silent film technique of iris in/out, except that the area of Audiard's focal point is movable and amorphous, an organic, living lens.
In A Prophet, he applies the technique to the opening credits, and then to the introduction of Malik (Tahar Rahim), the young delinquent who has just arrived in prison to serve a six-year sentence for assaulting a cop. As the darkness around him gives way to light, the birth metaphor is subtle yet clear.
Moving through the opening scenes of the movie, it becomes even clearer: Malik's life before prison may as well be a figment of the imagination; he barely talks about it, and in his initial interviews with prison staff he is so reticent that he may as well be mute, an utterly blank slate. And while he does claim that he's innocent of the crime, Audiard's movie doesn't really care. Nearly all we need to know about this character is a function of these walls and bars, and Malik never brings it up again.
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