Serene lakeside pastoral tranquility's cumulative regenerative assertive grace tantalizingly taunts a troubled convalescing alcoholic in Mathieu Roy's L'autre maison, a man struggling to overcome his sundry jealousies and youthful longings, his inability to refrain from hostilely instigating comparative packs compounding his skittish alarm, a lost unattainable sense of consistent security haunting his unconscious, alcohol no longer an option, but peace, present, partout.
Flying off the handle quickly, abrasively, and confidently, Eric's (Émile Proulx-Cloutier) destructive instincts reflect the stormy endearing tract of the frightened everyperson, his counterproductive soul-searching trail blazed by Proulx-Cloutier's strong performance.
The film periodically focuses on his distracted bemusements, intermixing and contrasting his viewpoints with more successful and less coherent supportive family members.
Its calm enduring inquisitive patience forges a tight urban/rural familial dialectic whose curative emphasis boundlessly allures.
The late night swim is an important moment.
Ah, dinner is served.
Love permeates.
With raccoons.
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