Seven days spent in the limbo of a couple.

In the exclusive refuge of a privileged society, a fortunate minority lives protected under an invisible dome—a fragile bulwark ensuring breathable air and clean water. Outside this shell, the Earth is a shadow of its former self: a radioactive wasteland, barren, devoid of possibilities. Here, survival is not a right but a privilege that comes at a cost—the renunciation of the freedom to decide on procreation. Every new birth results from a strict selection process, a struggle against the unyielding judgment of a system determining who deserves to pass on their existence.

In The Assessment, Fleur Fortuné's debut feature, we are immersed in a dystopia that goes beyond warning of environmental collapse. It delves into the essence of parenthood as a promise of the future. The narrative, conceived by Dave Thomas, Nell Garfath-Cox, and John Donnelly, centers on Mia and Aaryan, a couple who have survived the impossible: gaining the chance to undergo the ultimate and cruelest test to become parents. Seven days of observation, with Virginia acting as an arbiter and catalyst for tensions and illusions.

Virginia does more than observe. She takes on the role of a child—a shadowy presence that infiltrates Mia and Aaryan's psyches, simulating, distorting, and amplifying family dynamics. Every gesture becomes a subtle incision, a test of endurance, a provocation that edges into paranoia and cruelty. Her presence transforms the test into an experience of psychological violence, where control and judgment become tools to probe the cracks in the couple’s relationship.

The tension escalates, but not without predictability. The narrative patterns of a story confined to a limited space and a small cast steer the plot toward foreseeable outcomes. Virginia emerges less as a character and more as a narrative device—a tension mechanism that, while sharp, fails to deeply explore the implications of its role. When the film breaks its unity of time and place, it betrays an ambition to explain what might have been better left to intuition, losing some of the mystery that sustained it.

Yet moments of profound fascination arise, such as the simulation technology developed by Aaryan, capable of merging the virtual with sensory reality, making it almost tangible. This idea hums with metaphysical potential but is explored only fleetingly, hinted at too timidly in the finale.

The Assessment does not indulge in spectacular twists or shocking revelations. Fortuné’s direction embraces an austere, ruthless minimalism—a cinematic language that evokes the analytical coldness of artificial intelligence. Love here is not a pulsating emotion but a dissected concept, reduced to an algorithm of gestures and intentions incomprehensible to any machine.

In this claustrophobic experiment, the protagonists lose themselves in a game of mental manipulation, implicit seduction, and underlying power struggles. The plot folds in on itself, weaving scientific, virtual, and narrative complexities into a labyrinth that leads to a dark, oppressive conclusion. It is not the dynamism of actions that emerges but the very language of control, reshaping destinies and stifling any possibility of genuine freedom. A chilling and unsettling vision, resonating as an existential warning: what remains of humanity when authority controls everything, including reproduction, manipulating daily life and redefining the very meaning of the future?

But perhaps we’re already there?

01-Dec-2024 by Beatrice