The story, unfolding over a 24-hour period, centers on Vinz, Said and Hubert--very close friends from very different backgrounds. Vinz is white and Jewish. Said, an Arab. Hubert is Black. They are three disenfranchised youths trying to find meaning in what appears to be an otherwise meaningless existence. During a riot the night before, a friend of theirs is arrested and then beaten while in police custody. He lies clinging to life in a hospital. One more riot in the drug- and crime-ridden housing projects, one more case of police brutality. Same old shit, only one big difference: a gleaming, chrome-plated Smith & Wesson 44 that falls into their hands, courtesy of the Paris Police Department. The weapon, which one of the riot cops lost during the previous night's chaos, becomes the catalyst for the story's climax. (official distributor synopsis)


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English A French suburb, racial issues, riots, street fights and protests, black and white handheld camera. Hate may have ambitions to offer a complex viewpoint like, for instance, In the Name of the Father in the UK, but in the process the viewer finds that it actually skims the surface and remains merely shocking, without a broader dimension, like, for instance, Romper Stomper. It's not that the theme and its handling have no value or meaning, but one day of assholes fooling around in a concrete jungle with a few raw moments does not a legend make. ()


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English I've perhaps never experienced such anticipation for every new shot in a movie. Where they're going to put the camera this time, where the shot is going to come from, where it's going to take us. Every image, the layout of the characters in it, their body language, the setting of it in the real Paris and its suburbs, all create a strangely magical-realistic microcosm. This, unlike most French social dramas, is not altogether binary and yet has such a sympathetic childlike playfulness to it, reflected in the behavior and aimlessness of the actions of most of those involved. We don't know anyone’s backstory here, unless we project one onto them by virtue of their being an Arab, a Jew, a black man, or a cop. At the same time, the film constantly feels like a game where all the players know the rules, where Paris is a giant playing field where they all pretty much out of boredom just shove each other, double-cross each other, and chase each other between buildings, then they patch everything up again until someone breaks the code and a gun ends up in the hands of someone it shouldn't. Jusqu'ici tout va bien ()

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