Animated Chaos With Something to Say

MOVIE REVIEW
Death Does Not Exist (La Mort n’existe pas)
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Genre: Animation
Year Released: 2025
Runtime: 1h 12m
Director(s): Félix Dufour-Laperrière
Writer(s): Félix Dufour-Laperrière
Cast: Zeneb Blanchet, Karelle Tremblay, Mattis Savard-Verhoven, Barbara Ulrich
Where to Watch: shown at the 2025 Cannes Film Festival

RAVING REVIEW: What happens when a film shows us inner turmoil rather than spell it out? DEATH DOES NOT EXIST takes that gamble and leans into a style that embraces uncertainty, challenging its audience to engage without a clear roadmap. Rather than presenting a story with traditional arcs and easily labeled motives, this animated feature opts for a structure built on contradiction, metaphor, and transformation, both literal and emotional. The result is a project that’s as introspective as it is ambitious, walking a fine line between originality and occasionally opacity.

The heart of the story lies with Hélène, a woman whose attempt to participate in a politically motivated attack fails before it begins. In her moment of hesitation, she breaks from her group and escapes into the wilderness, a space that becomes far more than a backdrop. Within this ever-shifting forest, Hélène is forced to confront what her indecision means—not just for her companions, but for herself. As she encounters a figure from her past who still carries the urgency of their mission, the narrative splinters into a meditation on loyalty, identity, and how difficult it is to live in the aftermath of moral conflict.

What’s fascinating about DEATH DOES NOT EXIST is how confidently it lets the viewer wander alongside Hélène without reasserting its direction. There’s no voice holding your hand or explaining character motivations at every turn. Instead, it leans into its medium to express what words never could. The visuals take on the work of emotional storytelling, with sequences that seem to fluctuate in tone and texture in response to Hélène’s inner state. Scenes blur, twist, and reconfigure, echoing the disarray of someone caught between ideology and personal consequence.

Rather than presenting animated visuals that are overly polished, the film uses its roughness as a kind of emotional honesty. There’s a tactile, raw feeling to how shapes form and shift on screen. Nothing feels static. Environments breathe and characters move as if they’re on the brink of dissolving into the atmosphere. This creates an experience that isn’t designed to look good but to feel unstable, just like the narrative itself.

Sound design deepens that unease in ways that feel intentional rather than accidental. The score does not try to manipulate the audience; instead, it supports the visuals with quiet intensity. Layered soundscapes keep us tethered to the scenes even when the animation leans heavily into abstraction. The sparing use of music is smart, reinforcing moments of tension or reflection without making them melodramatic.

This works best when contradictions are allowed to sit without being resolved. Hélène’s guilt, fear, and longing don’t come to nicely wrapped conclusions, making her character more compelling. She’s not a martyr, and she’s not a hero. The film gives her space to be uncertain and inconsistent—a rarity in stories about ideological resistance. There’s courage in the way DEATH DOES NOT EXIST resists assigning moral clarity to its characters, allowing them instead to be reflections of the messiness that comes with political engagement and personal choice.

What sets this project apart is its embrace of form as function. The art style, sound, pacing, and structure reflect the subject matter. That cohesion between content and technique gives the film a sense of honesty—it may not always be easy to follow, but it never feels fake. Even when it wavers, there’s a sense that it’s in pursuit of something meaningful.

DEATH DOES NOT EXIST won’t be for everyone, and it doesn’t try to be. It’s a story where action doesn’t always lead to resolution, and questions are often more valuable than answers. Some viewers may want more clarity, while others find the experience rewarding precisely because of its ambiguity. The film asks its audience to sit with uncertainty, to listen without demanding resolution, and to consider that moral clarity isn’t always achievable, even in the stories we tell ourselves.

The project is more experimental than traditional, more reflective than resolution. It asks the viewer to consider what happens and what it means to stop, reconsider, and walk away. In doing so, it captures something honest about the mess of trying to stay human in a world that demands conviction.

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