Fresh Air - After A Friend's Suicide, A Writer Inherits His Grieving Dog

Episode Date: March 28, 2025

Sigrid Nunez's 2018 novel The Friend won the National Book Award. It's now a film, starring Naomi Watts and Bill Murray, about a woman who inherits a dog after her friend's suicide. She spoke with Terry Gross about the book in 2019.Also, Justin Chang reviews the new French film thriller Misericordia.Learn more about sponsor message choices: podcastchoices.com/adchoicesNPR Privacy Policy

This message comes from Penguin Random House with Everything is Tuberculosis. Best-selling author John Green tells the story of a young TB patient in Sierra Leone and systems of injustice fueling the world's deadliest infectious disease. Available where books and audiobooks are sold. This is Fresh Air. I'm David Bianculli. The new film The Friend, starring Naomi Watts and Bill Murray, is based on the novel of the same name by Sigrid Nunes.

Her book won a 2018 National Book Award for fiction. It begins with the narrator, a woman, at the memorial of a dear friend who killed himself. He was more than a friend. Years before, he was her writing professor and mentor. When she was his student, they slept together once, at his suggestion. She wasn't the only student, he seduced, but her friendship with him outlasted his three marriages and many affairs. After his death, she reluctantly inherits his dog, a hundred and eighty pound Great

Dane, who, like her, is grieving. Here's a clip from the film. Bill Murray as Walter and Naomi Watts as Iris are the two old friends. He's trying to persuade her to get his daughter to help put together a book of his work. She's lovely, she's bright. I like to work by myself. She's very bright.

I just said that, didn't I? You might appreciate another perspective, someone to bounce things off. No, that's not the point. Young, energetic, and my daughter. Right, but she hardly knows you. She doesn't know your work, your relationships. And that's exactly what I'm trying to fix. So I'm the fixer?

Everyone knows that you fix things. The novel The Friend is filled with reflections about the line between appropriate and inappropriate relations between students and teachers, what it's like to mourn a friend who left no note to explain his suicide, the bond that can develop between a dog and a person, and how being a writer has changed in the era of social media. We're going to listen to Terry's 2019 interview with Sigrid Núñez. Please note, there is a discussion of suicide at the beginning of this interview. If you or someone you know has thoughts of suicide and needs help, call

or text the suicide lifeline at 988. That's 988. Sigrid Núñez, welcome to Fresh Air. I want to start with a reading from your novel And this is from very early on when the main character has recently learned that Her friend has committed suicide and is reflecting on like why? Because of the timing so near the start of the year, it was possible to think that it had been a resolution. One of those times when you talked about it, you said that what would stop you was your students.

Naturally, you were concerned about the effect such an example might have on them. Nevertheless, we thought nothing of it when you quit teaching last year, even though we knew that you liked teaching and that you needed the money. Another time you said that for a person who had reached a certain age, it could be a rational decision, a perfectly sound choice, a solution even, unlike when a young person commits suicide, which could never be anything but a mistake. Once you cracked us up with the line, I think I'd prefer a novella of a life.

Stevie Smith calling death the only God who must come when he's called tickled you pink, as did the various ways people have said that were it not for suicide, they could not go on. Walking with Samuel Beckett one fine spring morning, a friend of his asked, doesn't a day like this make you glad to be alive? I wouldn't go as far as that, Beckett said. That there was to be a memorial took us by surprise. We who had heard you say that you would never want any such thing, the very idea was repugnant

to you. Did wife three simply choose to ignore this? Was it because you'd failed to put it in writing? Like most suicides, you did not leave a note. There was Sigrid Nunes reading from her novel The Friend. So this novel has a lot to do with suicide and trying to understand why somebody did it. Have you lost someone to suicide? Yes, I have. I have. And when, before I started writing this book, one of the main reasons why I wanted

to write about suicide was because I realized that I knew quite a few people who had the idea of suicide on their minds. I mean, they might not have been actually planning it, but they'd come to believe that this was how their story would end. It was a choice that was very much on their minds all the time, not just moments of despair. And I had finished the novel, though it hadn't been published yet, when one of those people did, did suicide. How did that person take their life? He jumped from the Golden Gate Bridge.

What did it make you think about thinking of the way that person chose to end it? I actually think that when people make that decision, it's such a mystery. I do know that people who have jumped and have survived, no small number of them have said afterwards that as soon as their hands let go, or as soon as they were in the air, they regretted it. And then afterwards when they were saved, they were happy to have been saved. So I have to have that in my mind that that might have happened to him too. It must hurt for you to think about that.

Certainly. And I, you know, I, he, he, he did not, I was not in touch with him right before he killed himself and there was no note. So I really don't know exactly what his thoughts were. Now, he was somebody who had been suicidal during his life and who suffered from depression and had been very unhappy. But still, even when a suicide like that happens, it can come as an extraordinary shock while at the same time not really being a surprise. I was not surprised. In fact, when I came home from teaching and I saw an email from a mutual friend that said, call me when you get this message, I knew instantly.

When a friend of yours talks about the temptation of suicide, what do you say? Do you say, you know, do you try to talk them out of it? Do you try to just listen? Oh, I try to just listen. My friend who jumped from the bridge, suicide was something he talked about all the time and the different ways that he might do it. Also, when you know that somebody is feeling this way, you know, you make all those suggestions about places to get in touch with people who might be able to help, to go into therapy if you aren't already. But I think it's very, very hard for people to deal with other people's suicidal feelings because it's so extreme. Self-homicide, self-murder, it's so against the normal course of things. And since I wrote

this book, I receive so many emails all the time from people who have lost people, in some cases very recently, to suicide. And I do have to think of ways to answer those emails, and I do. I answer every one of them. Another issue that your novel deals with is relationships between professors and students, specifically between male professors and female students and the attraction that can form between them. The main character is a woman, and the character who kills himself, her very dear friend, had

been her college professor years ago. And they even had a brief affair after he told her they should try sleeping together because he said, we should find that out about each other. And she says, I don't think it ever occurred to either of us that I might refuse. And then he tells her that, well, it's not really going to work out. And she's kind of devastated, but they remain good friends. He marries three times. They remain good friends throughout all those marriages. She's never quite sure what the wives feel about their relationship.

And he tells her to be a teacher is to be a seducer. And there are times when he must also be a heartbreaker. Have you heard men say that about teaching, that to be a seducer. And there are times when he must also be a heartbreaker. Have you heard men say that about teaching, that to be a teacher is to be a seducer? Danielle Pletka I have, I have. And I believe in this case, he is paraphrasing something that was said by George Steiner. Yes, if not in those words, or let's just put it this way, if not in words in some cases, that message is there. I have certainly heard that. Danielle Pletka It strikes me as such a male thing. Like, I don't think women teachers,

women professors see themselves that way, unless you're talking about seducing people into learning. But I don't think women teachers see themselves as wanting to flirt and maybe go to bed with their students. I'm not saying all men do either, but I think it's over the years been a more common thing for men than for women. Well, that might be true, but I do think that women, female mentors and women in positions of power do indeed have that same feeling. They might not carry it all the way through, but wanting to seduce their mentees or their students. But I think you can understand that, what that, you know, that doesn't seem so strange

to me that a young person would say that. And then I think as a mentor, Susan Sontag certainly was extremely seductive and was fully aware of how magnetic and charismatic and seductive she was to men and women in that role. It was a huge part of her personality. Seductive in the literal sense of like I'm going to try to convince you to sleep with me or just seductive at a distance. Yeah. Both. Both. It would depend on the person. But Sontag used to talk about that, how when she had any kind of affection or strong feeling for anyone, she always also wanted to sleep with that person. That was part of it. Now, she didn't always, of course. But it was always there. There was always some attraction like

that or some desire there. But as I say, just to remember her, I can't separate that seductive quality of hers out from the rest. I was going to say, just to put that in context, when you were in your 20s, I think, you were a couple with David Reif, Susan Sontag's son. She at the time was diagnosed with cancer. You were both living with Susan Sontag. She became a friend and mentor to you, and you got to see her at her best and her worst? Yes.

Okay. Have you ever felt like a seducer as a teacher yourself? Because you've taught in different settings. I mean you've taught literature and writing in colleges, you've taught English as a second language. So and you've taught over the years. So, you've seen issues about, you know, power in the classroom change over the years. I've never, no, I've never had that, I've never had any kind of issue come up, even remotely connected to that. It's been helpful to me that I didn't start teaching until I was in my 40s. And I can easily imagine, oh, God, can I imagine how different it might have been if I had been teaching as many of

my students do and my fellow writers in their 20s. It might have been a whole other story. What do you think would have been different? Well, I think I might have been more susceptible. And I think that anybody could be. As you said, you've seen the rules of conduct in the classroom change. It's against the guidelines in most places now

to have a relationship with a student, a sexual relationship with a student. And you've also said, in the past, marriages that have worked out really well between a professor and the student. And the one I think of immediately is poet Donald Hall and poet Jane Kenyon. And she was first his student, and then they, you know, they had a long marriage. Right.

And I can't think of any names right now, any couples, but there are many, many of them. But probably the more common thing is closer to inappropriate. Do you know what I mean? There have been some great marriages and relationships that have come out of that and some also real damage and inappropriate things. How have you seen the rules change? Your character has to attend sexual misconduct

classes and learn what the new rules were. So how have you seen the new rules change and how have you reacted to it as a woman? Oh, we all take those courses now in universities and colleges as soon as you start teaching, there's an online course about sexual misconduct, trying to make everything as clear as possible. And it's completely understood now that it is inappropriate, it's not allowed, you could lose your job. You know, this is fairly recent. And I think it's just something that had to be done. You know, even though there were these marriages, that doesn't mean that it wasn't inappropriate for the professor to have the affair with the student before he married her. I mean, it was still an inappropriate

thing. It was still a dangerous thing to do. It was still something that was far more likely to hurt young women in some way than anything else. And I think that the most pernicious thing about when a mentor or a professor has an affair with a student or treats the student in some sexual way is that there's also the student's work. And what happens is, because this is something that has happened to me, happened to me as a student, you don't know what, it affects the value of your work. I mean, you think, well, did those guys really think that my work was so great? Because the one female professor, she actually didn't think it was as great as they did. So is it that they really think that, or are they just trying to sleep with me? And that is something that a lot

of women know about. It's something that a lot of them go through. It's a kind of gaslighting. You end up not knowing, is it the work or is it me, the girl, the young woman? For that to be eliminated is definitely progress. Danielle Pletka What year are we talking about when you were in college. Well, this would have been... I graduated from Barnard in 72 and from Columbia in 75, the MFA program. But I'm not just talking about school. I'm not just talking about school. I'm talking about men in positions of power after that as well. I'm talking about a long period of my life. And then there's the question like in, if you're not supposed to talk about sexually

related subjects in class, when you're teaching a writing workshop, which is what you do, and you're encouraging people to write openly, and sex is a part of life and sexual thinking is a huge part of young people's lives. Do you make that subject off topic? Do you make that subject taboo for writing in class? How do you talk about it if it's not taboo for writing in class? Have you thought about that a lot? I have. I have no idea what other writing instructors do. But in fact, it turns out, in my experience, not to be a problem because the students do not write about sex. They are either too shy or afraid to, afraid to offend somebody, have heard stories about

other workshops where very bad things have happened, people have gotten upset. But mostly I find, and I find it rather odd, that it is very, very unusual for a student to write about sex in a writing workshop, either undergrad or graduate. Is that a relief to you as the teacher? No, no it's not because I feel like it's just one of many things that they are, you know, parts of human experience that they just won't go there. And, you know, a writer has to go there, you know. Very often what they do, and then we talk about this in class, is they go up to a point and then they panic or get shy or whatever and then they just make a leap. And then, you know, I said, but you didn't do it. You

lost your nerve. You see, the most important thing when you're writing is that you don't flinch. You know, the reader will not accept this. The reader will see right away that you didn't have what it takes. You didn't have the guts to actually write that scene that you let us write up to, and then you skipped right over it. But I mean, it's very understandable because maybe if they were, you know, writing it for publication, they hope, but they don't have to share it in a classroom with an instructor and everybody talking about it, you know, that's difficult for them.

Sigrid Núñez speaking with Terry Gross in 2019. Her novel, The Friend, won the 2018 National Book Award for fiction. It's been adapted into a new film of the same name and opens today in New York City and nationwide April 4th. Also, Justin Chang reviews the new French thriller Misery Cordia. I'm David Bianculli and this is Fresh Air. This message comes from Wyse, the app for doing things and other currencies. Sending or spending money abroad? Hidden fees may be taking a cut. With Wyse, you can convert between up to 40 currencies at the mid-market exchange rate.

Visit WISE.com. TNCs apply. This message comes from Mint Mobile. Mint Mobile took what's wrong with wireless and made it right. They offer premium wireless plans for less, and all plans include high-speed data, unlimited talk and text, and nationwide coverage. See for yourself at MintMobile.com slash Switch. Let's get back to Terry's 2019 interview with author Sigrid Núñez.

Her novel, The Friend, won the 2018 National Book Award for Fiction and has been adapted into a new film. One of the co-stars of the film is a very large dog, a Great Dane named Bing. Here's a clip in which Naomi Watts, playing a writer named Iris, learns that her best friend wanted her to take ownership of his dog after his death. Iris, I need to talk with you. It's about the dog. I wanted to ask if you could take him. No, I can't. No.

This is what Walter wanted after he died. Why would he say that? You were his best friend. The story in The Friend, the narrator is a woman whose mentor from college who was close to her age became a dear friend and he has just committed suicide. She's left grieving and wondering why. And she also inherits his dog. And it's not just like any dog. It's 180 pound Great Dane.

And she lives in a small rent controlled apartment in New York. And it's illegal. It's against the regulations to have a dog in that apartment. So she kind of violates the regulations to have a dog in that apartment. She kind of violates the regulations, takes the dog kind of reluctantly. And they become very close and they're both grieving. The dog is grieving too, but as you've said, you can't describe death to a dog.

You can't explain death to a dog. Yeah, that's something that has struck me well before I started writing this book, how difficult that is really, because, you know, there the dog is at home, as far as the dog knows everything is fine, and then the person, the dog's person, the most beloved one, vanishes into thin air, just doesn't, air, just isn't there anymore. There is no way to explain to the dog what happened. And it just seems to me that that must be a remarkable emotional tumult for the dog. She walks the street with the dog. You know, she takes the dog on walks, of course you have to.

Because the dog is so big, she feels like she's a spectacle when she's on the street with the dog. And everybody's like stopping and wanting to do a selfie or asking how much he eats or how much he defecates. And she's kind of, you know, I think she feels like partly her privacy is being invaded, but partly just amused by the whole thing. But it connects to something larger that her friend who took his life used to say, which is that he used to like love to walk and felt like he did his best writing while he was

walking and just kind of losing himself in his thoughts and in his surroundings. But he always thought that that would be harder for a woman to do because a woman always has to be on guard. Is this guy following me? Is this guy going to grop me? Is this guy going to attack me? What about that cat call? And so I'm wondering if you thought about that from both directions, about the difficulties of sometimes losing yourself as a woman who has to be on guard when walking the streets, and the difference when you have this, like, huge dog who everybody wants to stop and admire when you're walking.

Well, it's true that I was writing about Flannery and the flaneur, who is an urban walker. Danielle Pletka There's a French word. Dr. Alice B. Hicks Yes. And the mentor's idea that, you know, can there really be such a thing as a flaneuse? Can a woman be a flaneur? Because real flannery requires that you are able to lose yourself in an urban setting and just walk and dream and discover and that that is very difficult for a woman. Now, if we were talking about walking in the country, that would be different, but that's not what a flunner does. It did strike me, I guess, just as an idea when I was writing that of course it is true what he says, that a woman is raised to be always

on guard. Is there someone behind me? And not to mention remarks that are made or stares that are given. That certainly does make it much different for a woman than for a man. And with my narrator walking with the dog, she does feel embarrassed. She's a very private person and she doesn't want to be interrupted constantly when she's taking the dog for a walk. And then there's a certain amount of irritation with the same things always being said, like, why don't you ride him? And as you say, how much does he eat? And also, people putting in their two cents, such as it's a sin to, a crime, as one woman says. I think it's a crime to keep a dog that large in the city or that dog shouldn't be in the city, which is something that people do say if you

walk a big dog. And you've walked big dogs? You've had big dogs, right? I've had, well, my family had an enormous Great Dane, and I was already out of the house by then, but I did walk him, and children would follow, and people would say things. But I also had a dog that was half Great Dane, half German Shepherd and looked like a somewhat smaller Great Dane that I walked. And yes, yes, people do make a lot of comments. I'm guilty of being one of the people who say, how much does the dog eat?

I could probably ride the dog because I literally could probably ride the dog. I mean, I'm so short. I could really probably do it. I know people who won't get a pet after their beloved pet has died because they feel like they can't go through that grieving process again. And it reminds me of people who won't remarry because they can't bear the thought of losing a second spouse. Yes, I get a lot of emails from those people too, a lot. You know, they have lost a pet and it's been overwhelming to them. And very many of them say, I don't know if I could get another one or if I should get another one. Yeah, I mean, people become so emotionally attached to the animals in their lives. We probably underestimate how powerful that pain is when people lose an animal that

they love. Do you have pets now? No, I don't. I had two cats and they grew to be quite old and they both died and it was when the second one died that again I was one of those people who was so overwhelmed and I have not been able to bring myself to get another cat since then and that was years ago. Because of the grief? Yes, largely, largely because of that. Just not wanting to go through all that again. But there was something about the way that cat died and the loss of it. In fact, I do write about that in the novel. That I just was not able to get over

that. How did the cat die? Well, she was elderly and she became very ill. And then I took her to the vet who agreed that she should be put down because she would have to have surgery at her age. That was probably not such a good idea. And then the vet said, I have to give her two shots, one to calm her down. And something went wrong. And then she picked up the cat and ran off with it.

She had said to me, do you want to be with her when she dies? I said, of course. And then something went wrong. It had to do with the vein being too dehydrated when she made the first injection. And she then picked up the cat and ran off with it. And then I waited and then she came back and put the cat on the table and the cat was dead. And I remembered her saying, do you want to be with her? Well, then I wasn't with her. And yeah, it was very, very painful. And there was a certain point before the cat died where, you know, she was so ill and I brought her in and to the vet

and she was there and I felt that, you know, the way I write it, I say that I'm not saying this is what she said, but this is what I heard. She put her paw on my arm and I imagined her saying, wait, you're making a mistake. I didn't say I wanted you to kill me. I wanted you to make me feel better. Yeah. You never really know, do you, what the cat or dog is thinking about whether it's time to end their life. Exactly. And it was just a very overwhelming experience. Yeah. Sigrid Nunez speaking to Terry Gross in 2019. More after a break, this is Fresh Air.

I spoke with you in 1996. Yes. And one of the things you said is, I've never been married and I'm not going to marry. And I said, how can you be so certain? And you said, well, there isn't anything I could have from a marriage that I don't really have. Do you still feel that way? Well, I never did marry, just as I said. And that isn't something that I regretted. I think at the time, what I was referring to also was that I was with someone. I was in a relationship. We were living together.

I didn't really see why we had to get married and we didn't. Now I am not in a relationship. I'm not living with anyone. But I, you know, I guess I understood it then. It was just, marriage was just not going to be for me. Because? I don't, I've just, I do not, I have not shared that desire and need that so many people seem to have. I just, you know, when I was very young, when I was a teenager, I think I had, you know, fantasies of wedding and romance and marriage and children. But I don't have children, and I knew quite a long time ago that I wasn't

going to have children. So again, I mean, that makes a difference too. So I felt that I could be in relationships, I could have full, meaningful relationships without getting married, and I did. Danielle Pletka I think it was in your first book that you wrote, Time and time again I discover that I have not completely let go of the notion that salvation will come in the form of a man. That's true too.

Do you still feel that way or did you give that... I think I'm losing it. Did you give up that feeling? Yeah. Oh, I've given that up. I've given that up, Terry. I don't feel that way anymore. Okay. Have you thought about the difference of being single in the latter

part of your 60s where you are now compared to being single when you're younger? Oh, of course it's much easier when you're older, I think. Why do you think it's easier? To be single? I think it's easier because, well, I guess it depends on what we mean. I think it's very hard to be single when you're young because there are so many opportunities to not be single. You know, I think it's both romantic relationships and friendships. There's, you know, when you're younger, you get into these relationships

fairly easily, and the people that you meet who are, you know, your peers, they want those relationships and friendships, too. And it's quite different when you're older. I mean, I know people actually, you know, feel melancholy about this, that it's harder to...you meet people when you're older and you feel like you have a lot in common and you really like that person and that person seems to like you, but you just don't form the kind of friendship with that person that you did with people when you were younger. And so in that sense it's easier because you accept a certain amount of being alone and not seeking out people to date. Of course, everyone's different. But for me, I just feel like I'm not distracted

by the idea of dating or meeting someone or finding someone the way I was when I was younger, the way I was for most of my life. Okay. Then the thought comes up, what about when you get older? If you're single then and your health fails or something. Yeah, well you mean who's gonna take you to the vet for the two injections? Um. Or at least for the care, yeah. Right, well it's something that, you know,

it's something that people just have to face. It's certainly something that, you know, I think about and worry about. But you know, this is the way my life is. I will just have to, you know, deal with that when I have to. Did people used to warn you if you don't have children you'll regret it when you're older? Yes, and I think that that's very reasonable. I mean, as far as I'm concerned, missing having had children is enormous, is enormous. I did what I had to do, or, you know, my life turned out as it has.

But it's never, I've never not been aware that in not having been a mother, in not having had a child, I have missed one of life's greatest, most interesting, most meaningful experiences. I did, I did. But you know, you don't do everything, you can't have everything. So is that a trade-off you feel like you willingly made or do you have any regrets about the choice that you made? It's exactly that. In spite of the fact that I know, what a huge thing I missed, I also don't regret it because it was, you know, other women are different, other people are different. I knew

myself well enough to know that I was not going to be able to have the life that I wanted as a writer and be the kind of mother I would hope to be. That's just me. I, you know, it wasn't going to work out. I was not going to be able to work that out. And I most certainly, unlike any number of women I know, I most certainly was not going to be able to be a good single mother. That I know I would have not been good at. And, you know, I was not ever in a position where I felt real confidence with someone I was with that we could do this and he would be there and I would be there and he would make a terrific father. That just didn't happen. Danielle Pletka I want to end with the quote that opens

your book. It's a quote from Nicholson Baker and the quote is, the question any novel is really trying to answer is, is life worth living? No, that's a great quote to open a novel that has a lot to do with suicide. But does that also sum up your idea of what writers really are trying to write about? Yes, I was so struck by that quote and I found that quote, that's from his Paris Review interview.

The book was finished when I found that, and I, you know, by chance I just happened to read the interview, and I thought it was so perfect, so perfectly expressed, and a bit shocking when you think about it. But I think it's absolutely true. And I'm so grateful to him for having said that. Sigrid Nunes, thank you so much for talking with us. Thank you for having me, Terry. Sigrid Nunes speaking with Terry Gross in 2019. Nunes' novel, The Friend, has been adapted into a new film which opens today in New York

City and nationwide April 4th. Coming up, Justin Chang reviews the new French thriller, Misericordia. This is Fresh Air. Our film critic, Justin Chang, says the new French thriller, Misericordia, is one of the most enjoyable and surprising films he's seen so far this year. It tells the story of a man whose return to his hometown sets off unsettling shockwaves. Misery Cordia is now in select theaters. Here is Justin's review. There have been countless movies about people heading back home after some time away

and getting a less than friendly reception. Some of these characters are just searching for a little peace and quiet, like the X-Boxer played by John Wayne, who returns to his Irish roots in John Ford's classic The Quiet Man. And then there are those like Charlize Theron's misanthropic writer in Young Adult, who blows back into her suburban hometown looking to stir up trouble. One of the pleasures of Alain Giroudi's thriller Misericordia is that you're never quite sure which camp its protagonist falls into. Jérémy, played by Félix Kizil, is a man of about thirty, and he's hard to figure

out. Raffishly handsome, but with something cold and inscrutable in his blue-eyed gaze. As the movie begins, he's driving to a tiny French village called Saint-Marshall, nestled in a hilly, densely wooded countryside where residents go on long walks and forage for mushrooms. Jeremie has come back for the funeral of his former employer, a baker, who's just died at the age of 62. Jeremie stays with the baker's widow, Martine. She's played by the great French actor Catherine Fro, and she's open-hearted and welcoming, allowing Jeremie to stay on for a bit after the funeral. Rather

less hospitable is her son Vincent, who lives nearby with his wife and son, but drops by his mom's house often, each time making it clear that Jérémie is overstaying his welcome. The two men have some unfinished business, they used to be friends, and there's a homoerotic undercurrent to their thinly disguised hostility. Whatever might have happened between Jérémie and Vincent is never spelled out. But what makes Misericordia so unsettling, and also so darkly funny, is its belief that we all walk around carrying our share of latent, inconvenient desires.

Gihodi is a leading figure in European queer cinema, who's best known for his 2013 gay cruising thriller Stranger by the Lake. That movie was a tightly honed exercise in suspense. For all the sun-drenched nudity, it threw off an icy, hitchcockian chill. Since then, though, Guihodi's work has gotten looser, weirder, and more brazenly out there, cutting across boundaries in terms of tone, genre, and sexuality. His films are full of gay, straight, and often cross-generational romantic pairings. Indeed, his fascination with May-December encounters may be the most taboo thing about his work.

In Misery Cordia, Jérémie has no shortage of potential lust objects. He flits from one erotic possibility to another with a callous lack of investment. He seems to have had a thing for his former boss. He hits on a burly older friend who violently rebuffs him, at least initially. There's also a village priest skulking about, played by a hilarious Jacques Devlet, who seems to know all Jérémie's secrets and harbors a few of his own. Misericordia becomes a small-town murder mystery of sorts, complete with dead body, cover-up, and police investigation.

But this isn't one of those puzzles where the truth comes tumbling out in a sudden flurry of flashbacks and revelations. Guiraudi doesn't have much use for the past. He's interested in how his characters respond in the here and now. Misericordia knows exactly what it's doing, and also seems to be making itself up as it goes along. It's meticulous and smart, but it's also spontaneous and alive. The title is the Latin word for mercy, and as with so much here, it's shrouded in ambiguity.

Jérémie receives more than his share of compassion from others, like Martine, who is ludicrously patient with him, and the priest, who in one example of the movie's topsy-turvy moral logic insists on confessing his sins to Jérémie. and the priest, who in one example of the movie's topsy-turvy moral logic, insists on confessing his sins to Jérémie. Guiraudis himself grew up in a small town in southern France, and he clearly loves telling stories set against wild and evocative landscapes where anything can happen. Jérémie is clearly drawn to this place, too. For all its impish humour, Misericordia turns out to be an entirely sincere portrait of

a small town, where bakeries, farms, and a whole way of life are on the verge of disappearing. Perhaps making this movie was Guiraudi's own small act of mercy, a reminder for Jeremie and the rest of us that sometimes, maybe, you can go home again. Justin Chang is a film critic for The New Yorker. He reviewed the new French thriller, Misery Cordia. On Monday's show, we speak with British actor Stephen Graham, who's starring in two new shows. In the Hulu series, A Thousandand Blows he plays a real-life

bare-knuckle boxer fighting in Victorian London and in Netflix's Adolescence he plays the father of a 13 year old boy arrested for murdering a classmate. I hope you can join us. To keep up with what's on the show and get highlights of our interviews, follow us on Instagram at NPR Fresh Air. Fresh Air's executive producer is Danny Miller. Sam Brigger is our managing producer. Our senior producer today is Roberta Shorrock. Our technical director and engineer is Audrey Bentham with additional engineering support by Joyce Lieberman, Julian Hertzfeld and Diana Martini. Our interviews and reviews are produced and edited by Phyllis Myers,

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