We must Burn mom

There is something particularly cruel about having to organize a funeral when that is, in fact, the family’s line of work. Professional expertise should make things easier; on the contrary, every practical problem becomes a new opportunity to dredge up an old grievance. This is the fertile absurdity underlying We Must Burn Mom, in which Albert Dupontel brings together a brother and his two sisters around their mother’s body, while a staff strike forces them to take charge of the farewell themselves. The film transforms a delicate obligation into a confrontation from which no one can politely extricate themselves. Its title promises sacrilege, and irreverence is certainly present, but the most interesting provocation lies elsewhere: what if those who know your childhood best have understood almost nothing about your life?

After exploring the inner workings of politics in Second Tour, Albert Dupontel turns to themes closer to his heart. The funeral home provides both a comical situation and a particularly revealing setting: these people are used to handling others’ grief, but their own leaves them at a loss. The strike shatters the reassuring distinction between those who mourn the deceased and those who handle the body. Amid the logistical chaos, each member of this grieving family holds onto a personal vision of the mother they shared. Affection, preference, and rejection take on different forms depending on who is recalling them. The film’s greatest strength lies in the idea that a family can hold onto several incompatible versions of the same childhood, each compelling enough to shape an entire adult life.

Amid this fast-paced production, Louise Coldefy and Julia Piaton bring the essential nuances of emotional intensity to the family conflict. Louise Coldefy creates a captivating tension between apparent open-mindedness and a reluctance to risk her own happiness; her character’s ability to anticipate others’ reactions does not mean she is capable of looking at herself calmly. Julia Piaton turns professional confidence into a plausible shield for someone who remains convinced she was loved less. Neither of these two positions can emerge from this reunion entirely unscathed. In the role of their brother, Albert Dupontel makes a touching use of candor: his character’s difficulty adapting to social conventions highlights everything that these conventions allow others to conceal. The sibling dynamic works because tenderness must carve its way through habits repeated for decades.

The employee madly in love, played by Artus, brings a more spontaneous comedic touch to this carefully orchestrated ensemble. His euphoria and emotional clumsiness expand the scene beyond a simple argument between siblings, without turning him into a mere disruptive element. The rehearsal process helps us understand this balance. Before seeing the film, our publication had the opportunity to attend the rehearsals. The cast tested the script during five rehearsals at the Théâtre Lepic in Montmartre, and Albert Dupontel incorporated improvisations featuring elderly visitors and coffin fittings. These details matter, as the film could otherwise come across as too artificial. The actors need room to maneuver in order to suggest chance events, impulses, and misfortunes within a complex technical framework. Their shared rhythm breathes life into the dialogue, going beyond the demands of the camera.

Music offers another way out of the family’s verbal impasses. The brother’s piano playing reveals his feelings even before he can formulate an explanation, with familiar classical pieces becoming attempts at communication. Behind this hesitation lies a charming directorial touch: Christophe Julien, who performed the piano passages, had to make his otherwise accomplished playing appear imperfect. This deliberate awkwardness lies at the heart of the film’s tenderness. A flawless recital would express mastery; these hesitant notes convey an effort to reach out to someone. At the same time, Denis Podalydès’s narration introduces the distance inherent to the storyteller. It’s interesting to note that the film’s voice-over emerged during editing, based on recordings originally made on an iPhone while the narrator was on vacation. Its presence lends this confined farce the broader perspective of a fable.

The film loses some of its power when its emphasis on movement takes the place of genuine narrative progression. Pacing back and forth in a room isn’t always enough to mask the fact that a conversation revisits an emotional point that’s already been established, and the succession of revelations sometimes seems too carefully orchestrated to break down each character’s defenses. There is also a tension between the provocative pleasure of the film’s opening and the generosity of its conclusion: the desire for reconciliation can soothe wounds that deserve to remain painful just a little longer. These are significant limitations in a film that relies so heavily on sustained confrontation. Nevertheless, the performances convey warmth, and the humor generally stems from recognizable evasions rather than simply the spectacle of people behaving badly near a coffin.

What makes the film We Must Burn Mom so memorable is its understanding that grief doesn’t just bring sadness into a room. It also brings resentment, awkwardness, practical impatience, and the slightly shameful possibility of relief. Albert Dupontel gives voice to these feelings in a comedy whose technical exuberance sometimes goes a bit overboard, but whose emotional curiosity remains captivating. The film’s human success lies in its ability to let affection express itself awkwardly—through arguments, imperfect music, and words spoken far too late. The funeral must be carried out, but the living still have work to do. This is an inventive, intimate comedy—at times a bit too emphatic, but deeply affectionate.

We must Burn mom
Written and directed by Albert Dupontel             
Produced by Catherine Bozorgan, Ardavan Safaee
Starring  Louise Coldefy, Julia Piaton, Artus, Albert Dupontel, Clovis Cornillac, Grégoire Ludig, Johann Dionnet, Frédéric Épaud, Denis Podalydès 
Cinematography : Alexis Kavyrchine
Edited by Christophe Pinel
Music by Christophe Julien
Production companies : ADCB Films, Manchester Films
Distributed by Pathé (France)
Release dates :  November 11 2026 (France)
Running time : 81 minutes

Viewed on November 9, 2026, at the Pathe Palace, Theater 1