Nobel laureate Albert Camus is one of the most consequential thinkers and writers in the French language, having created absurdist characters and worlds that reflect a view on human existence which remains hauntingly unique. His debut novel The Stranger has seen two notable cinematic adaptations since its publication in 1942: once by Italian maestro Luchino Visconti (1967), most recently by Turkish director Zeki Demirkubuz (2001, under the title Fate). A fellow Frenchman has finally stepped up to revive Camus’ words for the big screen as they had originally sounded; perhaps not coincidentally, it proves the most faithful, hypnotically evocative version.
Premiering in Venice competition 58 years after Visconti’s film did the same, François Ozon’s take on the material makes few changes to the story. Meursault (played by Benjamin Voisin) is a young man living in French-Algeria. He has an office job, frequents local restaurants and otherwise keeps to himself. We quickly notice something quite strange about Meursault when he learns that his mother has passed away. After a look at the telegram bearing the bad news, he continues smoking, shaves, and goes about the rest of his day as if nothing had happened. His demeanor becomes even more jarring when he travels to the rural care home to attend his mother’s burial. Among sobbing inhabitants, the son of the deceased seems not only perfectly composed but positively puzzled by the emotions he’s witnessing around him. After returning to Algiers, Meursault starts an affair with ex-coworker Marie. When both of them join Meursault’s neighbor at a friend’s beach house, a run-in with an Arab man ends in Meursault’s killing of this literal stranger. In the ensuing trial, judge, jury, and spectators try to figure out the unfeeling monster standing in front of them before passing judgment on his fate.
The most crucial thing that Ozon’s film gets right are the moral, indeed philosophical considerations that build its central character. As technically impressive as Visconti’s version was, powered by Marcello Mastroianni’s empathetic, hot-blooded performance, it operated on a fundamental misunderstanding of the source. Meursault is not supposed to be empathetic or hot-blooded; every time Mastroianni pulls at your heartstrings with those earnest, teary eyes, it’s undermining Camus’ chilled, quietly shocking worldview. Demirkubuz course-corrected with his 2001 adaptation, but may have erred slightly in the opposite direction, causing the protagonist to come across as clearly antisocial if not downright disturbed. What makes Meursault such a remarkable creation lies somewhere between those extremes. Far from being crazy, he is clear-headed, observant, capable of lucid intellectual debates. At the same time, he rejects leading a life guided by sentiments, faith, or established ethical codes. His relationship with Marie is one of physical attraction: he desires her while considering the notion of love meaningless, and tells her as much. He makes no effort to defend himself in court––not because he regrets what he’s done, but the prospect of being executed doesn’t seem all that bad to him. The moment of his true enlightenment arrives when he sits in death cell, feeling finally at one with the “tender indifference of the world.”
Thanks in large part to Voisin’s superb, carefully calibrated performance, The Stranger gets all of that right. With the exception of a late scene involving a chaplain, Voisin’s portrayal of Meursault is characterized by utmost restraint. He never raises his voice and his face seldom betrays notable emotion. Yet there’s nothing robotic or hollow about this performance. You can tell it is informed by an understanding of the character that goes beyond the page. In the guileless, matter-of-fact way he agrees to marry Marie––not out of love, but because he doesn’t care either way––you see the lack of cruelty in a man whose words can be so hurtful. When Meursault is confronted with the prosecutor’s relentless attacks in court, the fleeting look (not of indignation but confusion) reveals someone who’s almost too innocent for this world.
Ozon’s direction captures the complexity of a text that seems simple at first glance. On the one hand, it puts you firmly inside the protagonist’s head, offering a keenly subjective, first-person perspective; on the other, a sense of distance and alienation permeates his film. This feeling of being both incredibly close to and always at one remove from what’s happening beautifully recreates the experience of reading Camus’ masterpiece. Shot in elegant black-and-white by Manuel Dacosse, The Stranger has a timeless look, a dream-like quality that keeps one on their toes. On top of this gorgeous scenery, Fatima Al Qadiri’s curious, at times ominous score reinforces the impression that something is amiss inside the pretend-paradise.
The only additional story beat that Ozon introduced in his adaptation focuses on the sister of the victim. While Camus’ novel very much casts her as a passive presence who inadvertently sets off the chain of events that leads to the murder, the new film asks us, through two brief but impactful scenes, to consider her side of the story. The film’s final shot, in particular, reminds one of the racial/colonialist tensions bubbling in the background and adds another quiet, eloquent layer to Camus’ reflections on indifference and futility.
The Stranger premiered at the 2025 Venice Film Festival.