Christian Carion
Joyeux Noel

1914. A quiet country chapel lost in Scotland.

Little brother, stop painting on the sacred statues. War has been declared and in this way our life can mean something. We must take advantage of it. The priest turns around astonished and says nothing. A draft generated by the opening of the creaking wooden door takes away the flames from the newly lit candles. The same wind will sweep over the battlefield to take away much more. At the Berlin Opera, a sweet female voice partially veiled by a blue cloak sings the Ave Maria. The interruption is sudden. War declared. The tenor ready to step on the stage is forced to shelve the stage wig for a while. He must leave for the front. The same goes for the French lieutenant. Son of a general who hasn't exactly recommended him so well. Instead of giving him a comfortable position, for prestige reasons he sends him to melt the snowflakes that land on the trench boards.

England, France, and Germany: three nations at war for the division of some patches of land. By now it is known that war is absurd. I have to go die because some powerful person decided to lay hands on a state different from theirs. Whether it is right or wrong, it's nothing that interests me directly. In the trenches, people die, assaults multiply, officers are ferocious beasts devoid of dignity, it's cold. In two days it will be Christmas. My little brother was mortally hit by the enemy and nothing will prevent me from hating the latter. In the partially starry sky, flares are launched to prevent possible enemy assaults. He is there, just a few dozen meters from the trench, but I cannot retrieve him. I risk catching a bullet, and I have already been too cowardly to leave him to dissolve on the pavement.

Carion's work, characterized by a good screenplay, does not leave much room for military actions. The director prefers to linger on the soldiers' states of mind, on the brief glances that can mean so much, on what an atmosphere as unique as Christmas can provoke in people's hearts. The beautiful light eyes of the soldier just killed, those lying covered by soft snow, those wet that cry for a dead comrade. Bitter feelings. Tomorrow is Christmas. The voice has a recommendation from the Emperor, and on Christmas, it sings to ease the sufferings of the officers who are not at the front. In the trench, the tenor receives a letter that allows him to accompany his wife in song. An opportunity to feel some real warmth, but the friends in the trench should not be neglected.

The Lord is about to be born, and even in wartime, a miracle can be useful. The Scots always have a bagpipe with them. The priest picks it up and between a shiver from the cold and one of hope, he begins to blow. The sound that spreads is very sweet. Never heard anything more beautiful. Hearts begin to warm up even if they show a hint of disbelief and a touch of suspicion. The tenor, returned with a blond angel, responds to the most beautiful of fires. "Stille Nacht" is the German greeting to the enemies across the Alps and across the Channel. The voice is beautiful, and one cannot resist it. The English join the German enemy to perform the most moving of "Adeste fideles". Concert for orchestra of infantrymen and artillerymen with voice and bagpipes.

From the trenches, small Christmas trees emerge, and what seemed like a lure to attract the enemy is nothing but the Christmas miracle. Truce. A handshake, compliments for the voice and the lady. Between some bitten words and a gesture, those men who until a moment ago were ready to eliminate each other came out of the trenches to exchange good wishes for the Nativity. At Christmas, gifts are also exchanged, and even a piece of dark chocolate, a bottle of sparkling wine kindly offered from the rear, or a meager meal can do. But why must we hate each other? What have you done to me that I must kill you? The illuminating rockets turn into fireworks, and as much as possible, a triangular football tournament or a card game is organized. It's a pity that miracles last so little.

I do not celebrate. Dear enemy, thank him who is being born that there is a truce. I cannot kill you, but remember that you killed my brother. Bastard! Tonight I go in search of him among the corpses. I write to my mother that we are both still alive. Tonight I sleep next to him. And I do not forget. The truce ends, but the courage to return to fighting is completely lacking. The powerful have no heart, but those who die on the field, except for a few distrustful ones, do. Another miracle happens. Today our artillery should hit the coordinates that include your trenches. Come shelter in ours. It is beautiful, and as usual, it lasts too little. We must depart for Russia. Maybe we'll see each other again when all this is over. The powerful force us to board the train that will run towards death. We send them to hell, murmuring the peace anthem that made us human at Christmas.

Beautiful work of the French director, which tells, as highlighted by the subtitle, a story forgotten by history. Humanity ripped away by the atrocities of war suddenly returns to celebrate a Christmas a bit different from others. Perhaps the most beautiful. Philippe Rombi's music is effective, and beautiful cinematography embellishes this film nominated for the Oscar and the Golden Globe in 2005. Obviously, as usual, it did not receive the due recognition and went unnoticed in the film circuits.