Quiet Forces

In 2015, Sophie Dupuis followed the Canadian sailors of the frigate HMCS Ottawa in the Pacific Ocean. An unusual subject, it would seem, for the director of Family First (2018), Underground (2020), and Solo (2023)—especially considering that the following year, she would shoot another short film for the NFB, this time about theater artist Suzanne Lebeau. One thing is certain: the Abitibi-born filmmaker has eclectic tastes. Her biography states that she has “a knack for shaking audiences with her hard-hitting films,” making the serenity and quiet that permeate Forces tranquilles feel like they belong to an entirely different cinematic universe. And yet, between the raw intensity of Family First and the hushed stillness of Quiet Forces, there are undeniable connections: an acute attention to detail, a delicate sensitivity, a luminous curiosity for worlds entirely foreign to her own, an innate mastery of storytelling—even (or especially?) in what remains unspoken—a keen observational sense, a deep understanding of character, and a poetic embrace of the present moment.

Though Quiet Forces is a wordless short film, it carries all the finesse and impressionistic quality of Dupuis’ other works, offering a portrait of soldiers at rest, surrounded by shimmering or turbulent waters. Her camera remains steady, the horizon unwavering, even as the ship’s rolling forces the men to walk at tilted angles and the curtains to sway like sails in the wind. It suggests a life that is never truly linear, despite the rigid protocols and responsibilities of military existence. Slow-motion shooting drills, bathed in red light against the deep blue dusk, intertwine with the thunderous sounds of helicopters overhead, blending into an abstract, ethereal score that alternates with a purely diegetic soundscape—the everyday noises of life at sea aboard a massive Canadian naval vessel. Like a fly on the wall or ceiling, Dupuis observes this singular world—one that remains largely unknown beyond the violence, stress, and explosions Hollywood has conditioned us to expect—choosing instead to let the quiet rhythms of this extraordinary yet ordinary existence speak for themselves.

Claire Valade
Critic and programmer