The highest praise I can give to Mathieu Denis’ fourth feature, “The Cost of Heaven” (Original Title: Gagne ton ciel), is that it reminds me of Charlotte Wells’ “Aftersun.” On the surface, the story of an ambitious investment banker’s fruitless attempts to position himself at the highest rungs of the financial ladder is not quite similar to that of a young father battling depression while providing his daughter with a memorable vacation. However, despite their thematic differences, the films share a striking similarity in the way they masterfully withhold their climactic crescendos for most of their duration.
Nacer Belkacem (Samir Guesmi) seemingly has everything one can wish for, with ‘seemingly’ being the keyword here. Having a loving family, a strong presence in the local community, and the general respect from everyone that matters to them might have been enough for most people. However, Nacer is a ‘Glass Half Empty’ man through and through. This intense penchant for ‘more’ soon becomes all-encompassing. So much so that the proverbial glass might as well not exist anymore. This severe longing begets frustration and disapproval, bordering on hatred. Whether it’s the mid-range car or the lack of means to donate thousands of dollars, Nacer challenges himself to get more. More money, more prestige.
Nacer’s wife, Farrah (Meriem Medjkane), begins to worry due to this alarming change in her husband’s attitude. Nacer’s desire to constantly place himself in the association of the ultra-rich soon backfired. After finding that his son is in the same class as the grandson of Ben Novak, one of Canada’s wealthiest men, Nacer takes his chance to befriend the Novak family. However, the association proves to be costly. Literally, as Sarah, Ben Novak’s daughter, raises her glass for a school donation in the range of a hundred thousand. Farrah, being the upstanding woman she is, pledges a five-hundred-dollar donation. It embarrasses Nacer to his core.
Denis, with fellow writer Alexandre Auger, lulls you into a false sense of security with their riveting script, which admittedly takes its sweet time to pull you in. “The Cost of Heaven,” like “Aftersun,” has an impressive masquerade that dares you to pigeonhole it. Yes, it is a story about a man trying to get more money, just like “Aftersun” is about a man battling depression. However, the deft manipulation Denis incorporates in the execution, the same execution that makes you misread the severity of the central character’s mental state, is as commendable as Wells did in “Aftersun.” The theme of crippling depression is replaced by the equally crippling theme of desperation. Different poison, similar bottle. The intoxicating effect will have you unprepared for the climactic finality. Once again, a bit like “Aftersun.”
When Nacer is overlooked for a thoroughly deserving and long-overdue promotion, things begin to escalate. As Nacer jumps from one desperate move to another, with a drastic increase in risk in each jump, one cannot help but feel entrapped in the downward spiral, accompanying Nacer. And this vicarious despair could not have been this profound without the superlative performance from Samir Guesmi. Leading from the front, Guesmi becomes the epitome of desperation and longing. Whether it is anger, frustration, momentary joy, or panic, Guesmi is impeccable. Nacer’s continued plunge into everything immoral feels humane, and Guesmi is largely responsible for that. Let us just say that it is understandable why Sara Mishara’s camera keeps on finding excuses to linger on Guesmi’s face. Meriem Medjkane, as Farrah, gets a noticeable chance. And she does not disappoint either.
Speaking of cinematographer Sara Mishara, “The Cost of Heaven” has some exemplary camerawork too. As mentioned, Mishara’s camera, in conjunction with Denis’ direction, relishes its moments when capturing Nacer’s emotions. The extra few seconds the camera spends on Nacer’s emotive face work wonders in underlining the respective motif of each scene.
There is some visual trickery on display, particularly towards the end. The rotating inversion technique, like the 180-degree screen turn seen in Ryan Coogler’s “Black Panther,” is profusely used here. Understandably, to highlight Nacer’s bleak descent through desperation, the descent that makes him the opposite of the family man he used to be, the one Farrah and his children knew of. Is the screen-upending technique a bit too on the nose? Perhaps. But in a cautionary tale of the comeuppance of chasing extravagance, excess when it comes to something as harmless as cinematic techniques could be ironically welcome. At least, I welcome it.
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