Red Rooms

Writer and Director: Pascal Plante

Pascal Plante’s dark and modern tale of obsession may tell you more about the world than you ever wanted to know. Tracing the lives of two women who are drawn to an infamous Montreal murderer as he stands trial, Red Rooms makes for uncomfortable viewing. It immerses you in the sordid side of true crime addiction, although this is miles away from merely listening to a podcast.

The red rooms of the title are explained quickly at the start when the prosecution sets out its case to the jury. These rooms are live webcams on the dark web where people pay to watch torture being meted out on innocent victims, three young blonde girls in Ludovic Chevalier’s case. The prosecution continues the list of his crimes; dismemberment, sexual assault and murder. The judge suggests that anyone who doesn’t think that they can handle such brutal details should leave the courtroom immediately. No one does, but you may wish to exit the cinema at this point.

The prosecution also has the live footage from the red rooms which will be used as part of its evidence against Chevalier, or as he’s been named by the media, The Demon of Rosemont. The courtroom, surprisingly small for such an important case, seems to hold its breath when these videos are mentioned. Even their existence, like the taped recordings of the Moors Murderers, exceeds belief, and perhaps exceeds what’s acceptable in film too.

Fortunately, all the violence happens off-screen, but the screams and the sound of a chainsaw are more chilling and upsetting than any B-movie horror. However, Plante is not interested in why some people commit such appalling acts of inhumanity, but in why other people are so fascinated with such unspeakable violence.

Model Kelly-Anne (an icy, unreadable Juliette Gariépy) is so obsessed with Chevalier that she sleeps rough near the courthouse so she can guarantee a space in the public gallery. In the first few days of the trial, she befriends another lonely woman, Clementine (Laurie Babin), who is convinced of Chevalier’s innocence, thinking that he has been set up by the authorities. Kooky Clementine almost yearns for him romantically.

Clementine even calls up a late-night TV chat show to plead for Chevalier’s innocence. The trashy hosts dismiss her claims with humour. But compared to her friend’s more passionate behaviour, Kelly-Anne is emotionless as she digs deep into the dark web, finding out the telephone numbers of one of the victim’s mothers. Going by the avatar The Lady of Shalott, Kelly-Anne communicates with other people who are captivated by these modern-day versions of snuff movies. Her apartment, with minimal furniture, is a kind of digital fortress and she has even created her own AI virtual assistant who she has christened Guenièvre, of course, another Tennyson reference.

She makes for a good model, too, as her face is always inscrutable. Her fashion shots are detached and blank, looking at the camera impassively, the clothes doing the talking instead. She brings this demeanour into the courtroom too, watching the proceedings from a distance while her friend Clementine is animated and angry, especially so when the red room videos are played in camera.

While the ending comes as no surprise, you are left wondering what damage has been done to the people watching these webcam films. Plante’s clinical film does a much better job of investigating the effects of watching violence than Prano Bailey-Bond’s Censor, the British film that was released in 2021. But what this says about the audiences who watch these kinds of metafilms – films about violence in film, whether acted or real – is unclear. Needless to say, it’ll take a while to remove Red Rooms from your nightmares.

Red Rooms is in cinemas 6 September.