Nique ta mère

The scouts

The title promises provocation but the film seems to want tenderness instead—which is either a bait-and-switch I respect or a missed opportunity, depending on what that 'special request' actually is. Either way, it's gambling on restraint over shock, and that's rare enough to notice.

Two minutes of coming-of-age cinema that trusts the viewer to sit in ambiguity; there's a lineage here—the French New Wave's interest in the unsaid, the Dardenne brothers' observational rigor—executed with formal discipline that knows exactly when to cut.

In 120 seconds, whatever choice Meier and Fouque made in the final moment—whether it's a look, a silence, or what the 'special request' reveals—either lands as genuine vulnerability or collapses the whole premise, and that razor's edge is what makes it worth watching.