Les Misérables

Revisiting Les Misérables is like taking on a unique challenge: how do you reintroduce a sense of uncertainty into a story that is now part of our collective memory? Fred Cavayé finds his best answer in Vincent Lindon, whose presence lends this ambitious adaptation its full human dimension. Behind the period costumes and the grandeur of a literary epic lies a more immediate concern: what must we do for society to allow us to become someone else? This question serves as the central theme of a film whose emotional power often surpasses its formal audacity. Sincere, generous, and at times overly conscientious, this version of Les Misérables captures the appeal of a great popular adventure, while keeping in mind that the suffering depicted in Victor Hugo’s novel cannot merely serve as a backdrop.

The origins of this adaptation offer a useful clue to its approach. During lockdown, Fred Cavayé rediscovered the novel in its entirety after having read an abridged version in school. His interest in shaping this material through the chase mechanics specific to The Fugitive explains the emphasis on danger, concealment, and the precariousness of a hard-won new life. It’s a clever take on the book: every step toward safety carries the risk of being discovered, and every act of generosity risks exposing the one who commits it. Yet the thriller framework also creates a fruitful contradiction. A fugitive survives by avoiding other people’s problems; Jean Valjean deserves our attention precisely because he cannot leave them alone. The suspense derives its meaning from this refusal.

Vincent Lindon is the film’s decisive asset: he makes Jean Valjean believable both as a formidable survivor and as a man who remains open to kindness. There is something particularly fitting about entrusting this character to an actor whose authority never rests on a serene demeanor. His strength does not obscure the impression of a life lived under pressure. More importantly, his performance highlights the value of kindness: protecting someone means accepting a new fear, a new responsibility, and a new reason to carry on even when exhaustion would be understandable. The character could easily be reduced to a series of noble acts, admirable when viewed from a distance. Here, it is humanity that gives these acts their cohesion. The emotional heart of the film lies in the possibility of starting a family after institutions have reduced an entire human being to a mere offense. This is where the film draws all its emotional power.

Opposite him, Tahar Rahim is given a more limited role: that of a pursuer whose conviction must remain dramatically compelling even when his actions are predictable. The screenplay gives him a troubled childhood, suggesting that an attachment to authority can stem from an early experience of rejection. This offers a useful parallel between two men shaped by adversity who reach radically different conclusions about what the world expects of them. The actor’s performance is less convincing when his rigidity turns into an insistent threat, leaving little room for contradiction. Nevertheless, the confrontation retains all its power because the disagreement is fundamental. Jean Valjean believes that experience can change a person; his pursuer needs his identity to remain unchanging. To accept evidence of goodness would be to call into question the very system through which he understands himself.

The supporting characters provide welcome shifts in tone. Noémie Merlant imbues this doomed young mother with an emotional depth that transcends the limits of her role. Her place in the story highlights the cruel chain of events through which financial precariousness turns into social disgrace, and then into physical danger: respectability is something others can take away long before help arrives. The brevity of her appearance leaves a sense of frustration, while revealing just how many individual tragedies this vast narrative conceals. Camille Cottin and Benjamin Lavernhe, for their part, infuse the innkeepers with a more perverse energy; their exploitation turns the vulnerability of others into a source of income. Their more caricatured performances sometimes clash with the gravity of the lead performance. Nevertheless, their ugliness serves a purpose. In this world, cruelty is exercised as much through petty transactions as through the law.

At nearly three hours, the film has time to hint at the novel’s scope, even if its length alone isn’t enough to fully capture its breadth. The artistic vision helps create a world you want to immerse yourself in, and the succession of plot twists lends this journey considerable depth. What proves harder to sustain is the sense of discovery between the major events. Familiarity sometimes makes the structure obvious: the next ordeal arrives with the inevitability of a scheduled appointment. The revolutionary sequences also reveal the limitations of Fred Cavayé’s approach. They convey danger more effectively than collective exhilaration, and their spectacle lacks some of the indomitable momentum that the subject matter invites us to express. The personal stakes remain clearer than the broader political upheaval.

The most compelling tension in this adaptation lies in the relationship between individual salvation and structural injustice. Saving a child is of paramount importance, but the conditions that put her in danger persist. A compassionate employer can change individual lives without necessarily alleviating poverty elsewhere. Victor Hugo places extraordinary value on personal generosity while emphasizing the existence of a broader social debt, and this dual perspective prevents the story from becoming merely reassuring. Fred Cavayé is particularly compelling when the melodrama maintains this sense of unease. His accessible, character-driven approach makes the moral choices clear, even if it sometimes simplifies the world around them. To describe the result as “absolutely faithful” would be to ignore the choices inherent in any adaptation. Its success lies elsewhere: it imbues the central struggle with enough urgency to restore full significance to an act of mercy that is, after all, familiar.

Les Misérables is a captivating and emotionally rich mainstream film, carried by an exceptional Vincent Lindon and a sincere belief in the dramatic power of compassion. The film would, however, benefit from greater narrative freedom and more passion in its most grandiose sequences; its respect for the original work sometimes holds back the very boldness that could have made it extraordinary. But there is real pleasure in discovering a film that takes both adventure and moral responsibility seriously. Its central theme transcends these shortcomings: becoming a better person offers no guarantee of safety, recognition, or forgiveness. Yet it remains important. It is this conviction that gives this adaptation its lasting resonance and makes this journey truly unmissable..

Les Misérables
Written and directed by Fred Cavayé
Based on Les Misérables by Victor Hugo
Produced by Olivier Delbosc, Richard Grandpierre
Starring Vincent Lindon, Tahar Rahim, Noémie Merlant, Camille Cottin, Benjamin Lavernhe, Marie Colomb, Megan Northam, Giorgia Sinicorni, Philippe Arnaud, Frans Boyer, Vincent Colombe, Frédéric Pierrot, Vassili Schneider, Léonard Signoret, Giulia Sagnier, Ninon Veys, Lauren Luczak-Kahlert, Nicolas Maffre, Serge Beuchat, Léa Betremieux
Cinematography : Denis Rouden
Edited by Mickaël Dumontier
Music by Christophe Julien
Production companies : Curiosa Films, Eskwad, TF1 Films Production, StudioCanal
Distributed by StudioCanal (France)
Release dates :  14 October 2026 (France)
Running time : 178 minutes

Viewed on October 6, 2026, at the Forum des images, Theater 500 (club Allociné)