Nuit obscure – « Ain’t I a Child? » (2025) de Sylvain George

The final installment in Sylvain George’s trilogy on migration policies, Nuit obscure – “Ain’t I a Child?”, takes us to Paris, where a group of young people, almost children, face the cruel reality of migration while surviving in the shadows of the city. The film opens with handheld footage, shot on a mobile phone, showing a group of young men—barely out of childhood or still in it—navigating a dinghy towards Europe. As they shout “Europe, my brother, Europe!”, a glimmer of hope and illusion seems present, though these images—the only ones in color in the film—stand in stark contrast to the darkness that follows.

On the streets of Paris, Malik, Mehdi, and Hassan, all minors, live on the margins of society. Their shelter is a makeshift spot near a metro grate, with the Eiffel Tower looming in the background like a distant, inaccessible set piece. The young men spend their days in a space where laughter and stories blend with the violence of the police who drive them away, with precarity and hopelessness as constant companions. The camera closely follows the protagonists, portraying their lives with a rawness that forces the viewer to confront their discomfort. Through them, the director invites us to reflect on a world that excludes these youths, whose lives unfold between survival and the void of an uncertain future.

George doesn’t aim to offer a simplified view of migration policies or a direct critique from a distant stance. His approach is immersive, almost organic, filming in stark black and white, with high contrasts that reflect the harshness of these youths’ existence. The film lingers on their bodies, their imperfections, their faces marked by violence, exclusion, and flight. There are no easy answers or solutions in this portrait: we are simply invited to observe, to bear witness to a reality society prefers to avoid.

George’s intention is clear: there are no judgments, no lessons to impart. Instead, the director becomes an observer, coming as close as possible to these wounded bodies, to restore a dignity that has been denied to them. The film, with its slow pace and lack of abrupt cuts, does not allow an escape from the daily routine of these migrants, who are trapped in an endless cycle of waiting, struggle, and pain. The use of black and white reinforces the feeling that these young people are caught in a world without color—a visual metaphor for their existence on the margins of European society. However, the brief moments of tenderness and brotherhood captured by the camera—sharing a cigarette or a smile—become acts of resistance, small gestures of humanity in the midst of despair.

Ain’t I a Child? is not just a documentary about migrants; it is a poetic and political act. With a runtime of over two and a half hours, the film distances itself from the idea of offering solutions, instead focusing on fundamental questions about the existence of these youths in the city of Paris, about their relationship to consumerism, European culture, and the contradiction between their dreams and the harsh reality they face. George is not interested in solving their problems, but in showing how these bodies survive in the dark—like plants growing through concrete, adapting to their environment despite adverse conditions. In this sense, the film not only denounces failed migration policies, but also shows, through its characters, how these policies inscribe themselves onto the bodies of migrants, who are not only fighting to survive but to find a place in a world that has stripped them of their childhood and dignity. Nuit obscure – “Ain’t I a Child?” ends on a note of despair, but also with a reminder that life, in its rawest and most elemental form, remains a constant struggle for survival and humanity.