THE STORY – After a failed armed attack on wealthy landowners, Hélène abandons her companions and flees into the forest. Manon, one of her friends and accomplices, returns to haunt her. Hélène has to revisit her convictions and choices in a valley where metamorphoses and great upheavals disrupt the natural order of things.
THE CAST – Karelle Tremblay, Barbara Ulrich, Zeneb Blanchet, Mattis Savard-Verhoeven & Irène Dufour
THE TEAM – Félix Dufour-Laperrière (Director/Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 72 Minutes
From the studio that gave us “Chicken for Linda!” comes a far darker, more politically charged fable. In “Death Does Not Exist” (“La mort n’existe pas”), the animation studio, Miyu Production, once again floods the screen with vibrant color and emotional intensity. Still, this time channels it into a tragic, ambitious meditation on activism, guilt, and the wild terrain between conviction and survival. Directed and written by Félix Dufour-Laperrière, the Canadian and French co-production echoes the thematic grandeur of Studio Ghibli’s “Princess Mononoke,“ with its shared preoccupation with the destruction of nature, inner conflict among would-be heroes, and the blurred line between monster and martyr. Here, nature also rebels, but instead of ancient gods and forest spirits, it’s the ghosts of failed revolutions that howl through the trees.
Set in a town where gold shines with menace, “Death Does Not Exist“ opens with a visceral act of rebellion. Hélène, our hesitant protagonist, leads a group of young activists in a violent plan to overthrow the town’s “rich geezers,” those who own the land, pollute the skies, and symbolize all-consuming wealth. “They’re using us,“ one character says, echoing the weariness of countless real-world struggles. But when the time comes, Hélène falters. She watches in paralyzed horror as her friends are gunned down, and instead of joining them in sacrifice, she runs.
The film’s second half leaves the brutal realism of political violence and slips into a more metaphysical journey through grief and guilt. Hélène enters a forest that feels alive with memory, where red leaves blanket the ground like her friends’ spilled blood, and her dead friend Manon appears as both guide and accusation. “You have a second chance,“ Manon whispers, urging her through a dreamscape where gunshots echo like ghosts and every step toward redemption is shadowed by the weight of cowardice.
Visually arresting, “Death Does Not Exist“ is a painting in motion. Characters blend into their surroundings: dark green in the forest’s embrace, orange in the flicker of campfires, almost translucent under the brightness of sunshine. The 2D animation is expressive and intimate, conjuring emotional beats without needing words. Golden Wolves, first seen as statues in a palatial home of wealth, later come to life to chase a lamb – a metaphor for Hélène, caught between innocence and complicity. The symbolism may be heavy-handed at times, but it’s undeniably affecting.
It’s a tragic tale about friendship, love, and hope, and while those elements flicker throughout, they often get tangled in a thicket of ideas. The film tries to say everything – about climate collapse, class warfare, revolutionary zeal, and personal failure – and as a result, it sometimes says too much. By the time the town is literally swallowed up in a tidal wave of protest and metaphor, you may feel that the film is also being swallowed up by the weight of its own ambition.
Yet beneath all this, there’s an emotional core that resonates. In one powerful moment, Hélène meets her younger self – a scene that suggests rebirth, reflection, and the infinite cycles of hope. She returns to the place of the massacre, this time choosing to fight. This time, she says, “I love you“ to Marc, the comrade who died loving her. It’s a romantic gesture haunted by inevitability, a small act of defiance in a world that punishes those who want to believe in something more.
“Death Does Not Exist“ is sprawling, sometimes convoluted, and often overwhelming. But it’s also urgent, human, and visually daring in animated form. It demands that we confront not just systems of oppression but our own roles within them. In its final moments, it leaves us with a question that cuts through all the visual poetry and ideological fire: What will you do with your second chance?
