Close (2022)

Close is the kind of film that sneaks up on you with its gentleness, then stays with you because it understands how enormous a friendship can feel at thirteen—bigger than language, bigger than explanations. Lukas Dhont directs with a hushed, compassionate precision, letting small gestures and silences speak, while Eden Dambrine and Gustav De Waele give performances so natural you forget you’re watching “acting” at all. The rural Belgian setting is photographed with a luminous calm that makes the warmth of connection—and the chill of social pressure—feel almost physical, creating a tone that’s intimate, tender, and quietly devastating without ever turning manipulative. It’s not an easy watch given its themes of bullying, grief, and suicide, but if you’re open to a deeply human drama that treats adolescence with rare seriousness and empathy, Close is absolutely worth your time.

Close is aiming for a tender, unshowy portrait of adolescent intimacy and how quickly peer pressure can poison something pure, and it largely succeeds through natural performances and a quiet rural atmosphere. But be warned: it’s designed to hurt, and for some viewers the grief arc can feel emotionally engineered, with big beats that push for tears more than they earn them through nuance. If you’re sensitive to suicide themes or you dislike dramas that lean hard into guilt and catharsis, this may feel less like observation and more like emotional pressure. Still, if you can handle heavy subject matter and you’re open to a restrained, character-focused film, there’s real sincerity here even when it borders on manipulation.