Angel review – neon-soaked doomed love

The last 24 hours in the life of world famous cyclist Thierry Brasfort (Vincent Rottiers) are soaked in neon lights. Yellow in the streets, blue in the club, a hazy, thick red in a hotel room. The lights drown his world and light up her skin: Fae (Fatou N’Diaye), the last person he loves. She’s Senegalese and she earns money with her body. But she’s a gazelle, not a whore.

The story of Angel feels like an impossible work of fantasy, a star-crossed tragedy opposing love and sex, body and mind, life and death. But it’s based on another story, the novel ‘Monologue of Someone Who Got Used to Talking to Herself’ by Belgian author Dimitri Verhulst, and the start of Koen Mortier’s film warns us that while some things to come are based in reality, others aren’t.

Thierry seems to flit between fact and fiction in his own consciousness, as he frequently dreams about the way he’s going to die. Will he hang himself, legs dancing in the air by a swimming pool? How about a bullet to the head, with just a couple of blood stains dying his white boxers? His body and ego are worked up into oblivion by his career and his fans, so he takes a holiday to Senegal to compose himself. But that’s where he has to fall apart.

Read the full review on Little White Lies

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