Remember that time you desperately needed a hug? That moment when words wouldn’t do, when only human touch could anchor you to reality? Now imagine being told “here’s some yoghurt instead.” Sounds absurd, doesn’t it? Yet this gut-wrenching scene from Nicolas Philibert’s latest documentary isn’t some dark comedy – it’s the reality facing patients in one of Paris’s psychiatric hospitals.
If you’ve followed French cinema, you’ll know Nicolas Philibert as the bloke who brought us heartwarming gems like “tre et Avoir” – that lovely film about a rural French school that had us all wanting to become teachers. But his new documentary “At Averros & Rosa Parks” shows a different side to the 74-year-old filmmaker. Gone is the gentle optimism, replaced by something rawer, darker, and bloody important.
The film completes Philibert’s trilogy about mental health centres, and cor blimey, it’s a tough watch. But then again, shouldn’t it be? As someone who’s spent countless hours volunteering in mental health support groups (and making a right pig’s ear of brewing proper tea), I can tell you that sometimes the hardest stories are the ones we need to hear most.
Take Laurence, one of the film’s central figures. She’s not asking for the moon on a stick – just a simple hug to keep her demons at bay. But in the sterile environment of the Esquirol hospital centre, such basic human comfort is apparently too much to ask for. It’s like going to a pub and being offered a glass of water when you’re gasping for a pint – except the stakes are infinitely higher.
For three decades, Philibert has been documenting places where care and kindness triumph: schools for deaf children, museums preserving humanity’s treasures, single-teacher classrooms where education feels like a warm embrace. But this latest work suggests he’s spotted something properly worrying in our modern approach to mental health care.
Unlike his typically hopeful films, “At Averros & Rosa Parks” shows a more critical perspective on institutional care, highlighting the gap between human needs and systemic responses.
As mental health services face unprecedented pressure post-pandemic, the film raises urgent questions about how we balance institutional efficiency with basic human compassion.
It completes his mental health trilogy while marking a significant shift in tone, suggesting even cinema’s greatest optimist has found his faith in institutional kindness tested.
In a world where we’re all trying to be more “mental health aware,” Philibert’s latest offers a stark reminder that awareness isn’t enough. Sometimes, what’s needed isn’t another policy or procedure – it’s just a bloody hug. And if that doesn’t make you think about how we treat our most vulnerable, I don’t know what will.
Share your thoughts below: When did you last witness the power of simple human kindness? Let’s get talking about what really matters in mental health care.