For Idus Martiae, the Ides of March, a scene showing the main character's back.

 

Olivier, a carpentry teacher at a youth rehabilitation center, has a new apprentice, 16 year old Francis. Fascinated by the boy and his unspoken backstory, he starts following him around.

“With these shots from the back and the neck, we hope to confront the spectator with a mystery, the impossibility of knowing and seeing. The face and the eyes should not try to express a situation that already sufficiently stirs up the spectator’s interests. This expression would direct, limit or even prevent expectations, whereas the back and the neck allow the spectator to go deeper, like a car driving into the night.”

– Luc Dardenne, via [spoilers]

“The Dardennes' brothers’ camera follows Olivier in his enigmatic, ominous obsession with the boy and almost constantly films him up close and from behind. In the absence of a true gaze, the back turns into a face that speaks but doesn’t explain anything, “a body that becomes a vibrating membrane”, as Jean-Pierre Dardenne so beautifully put it.” (via)

The city of Liège in Belgium's Walloon region is grey. The air seems forever stained by the heavy mining that for years made its inhabitants rich and sick. Here lives Rosetta (Émilie Dequenne), a young woman trying to keep herself and her alcoholic mother afloat with measly jobs while saving up enough money so she can, finally, leave the trailer park she's forced to call home.

“Your name is Rosetta. My name is Rosetta. You found a job. I found a job. You've got a friend. I've got a friend. You have a normal life. I have a normal life. You won't fall in a rut. I won't fall in a rut. Good night. Good night.”

– Rosetta

Directors Jean-Pierre and Luc #Dardenne once described this film as a war movie. It's pained, like the voices from the trenches that still scar the Belgian landscape. The camera – Alain Marcoen's – close, as if were following the girl through a rifle's scope. And raw, like the open wounds left behind by the mining companies.