L'Aube Dorée

Back in the late 19th Century a new secret society was formed in the back-streets of London, where members learned about occult rituals, took part in strange initiation ceremonies, and practiced enhancing their magical or supernatural powers – this cult was known as The Golden Dawn. Over the next few decades, The Golden Dawn grew in size and popularity, expanding it’s reach and widening its member base, reaching out into the world of the arts and becoming de rigueur in certain circles, where actors, artists, and authors clambered over themselves to join. The most notorious of their members was Aleister Crowley, the man who spread the word of The Golden Dawn wider than it ever had before, who practiced its many rituals with devotion and glee, especially in their psychedelic, transcendental, and sexual aspects, who supposedly opened the gates of Hell in a small Highland cottage on the banks of Loch Ness, and who was immortalised in song by the late, great Ozzy Osbourne.

Here though, in L'Aube Dorée (The Golden Dawn), the cult has been transposed to nineteenth century France, and has taken on the mantle of deposing the King by any means possible. They work in the shadows, scheming and plotting on how to overthrow the monarchy, and use nefarious tactics, including murder, to achieve their aims. When we meet them, L'Aube Dorée are initiating their newest member, Guillaume (Marline), a teenager on the cusp of manhood, who has been schooled and prepared for this life by his father, Edouard (Bohn), who is also a member of the secret society. For his first task, and as a means of initiation, Guillaume must murder one of their sect, who is a known drunk and philanderer, and who has been running his mouth off too much to anyone who’ll listen. This person has become too much of a liability and so Guillaume must silence him for good.

However, despite his ability with a sword, and his known reputation for being a skilled fighter, Guillaume’s murderous attempt goes awry when the girl that he is sweet on, Anne (Simon), witnesses him in the act and threatens to blow the whole organisation wide open. Guillaume must now make a decision, whether to honour his allegiance to his father and his sect, or to save the girl that he loves by standing up to those he has worked so hard to be recognised by.

L'Aube Dorée then, is an historical thriller which is entirely clothed in cloak and dagger. The machinations of the secret society all take place in the back-streets of the city, under the eaves of buildings, through low archways into covered cellars, and into the back-rooms of forgotten about establishments. Their meetings are conducted under the auspices of candlelight, and the society only revealed in the light of day when they make their move to kill. All of this is captured nicely by DoP, Kevin Sakac, who mostly manages to get the shots needed despite the limited light, whether that be in the candlelit cellars or the twilight of the outdoors. Director, Nicolas Lenerand, also does a solid job with his shot choices and the way he builds up his scenes, with all of the important aspects of the characters and their actions brought front and centre into the frames.

The writing though, from Lenerand and writing partner Melinda Martinho, is fairly stilted and to the point. We get the idea of what’s going on, and the main motivations of the characters, but there’s not an awful lot of nuance or depth to help flesh out the story around them. This perfunctory nature to the dialogue also then feeds through into the performances, where the amateur actors sound out their words almost to the point of caricature. This over emphasis on pronunciation is actually fairly useful to the average British viewer with no background in the French language, as it’s easy to hear the words and understand them as they are translated in the subtitles, but it does not help the performances any and keeps things sounding like an amateur production.

Once the action gets going, L'Aube Dorée again feels like its missing a beat, as the actors struggle to pull off any sort of believability or smoothness to their fighting. The swordplay is laughably slow, even if the choreography is actually quite good, and the audience is never really brought into the scenes with the clash of metal. The conviction and heart of all those involved, however, is enough to carry the scenes, and the story, and to an extent the performances, to allow the film to expose its themes and its drama enough that the viewer can overlook a lot of the inadequacies shown by the small production.

In the end, L'Aube Dorée offers an interesting look into the machinations of a secret society in historical France, where everything is done under the darkness of hooded robes. While it is a very amateur production, it carries itself well enough to achieve its aims and for the most part to bring the audience along with it, giving us a short window into a distant world. While it won’t win any awards for acting or writing, there’s enough here for most viewers to take something away from, and the team behind it should be able to build on what they have learned for their next project.