Slalom review – an enraging exploration of abuse in sport

As the snow-capped peaks of the French Alps come into view, a blast of freezing mountainous air inflicts Charlène Favier’s gripping coming-of-age drama Slalom with an unyielding intensity. Within this wide and icy expanse, an abusive, claustrophobic relationship between a young woman and her heinous coach is set to unfold on the ski slopes.

Noée Abita is a profound presence as 15-year-old Lyz, a fiercely competitive young woman who is the newest recruit at a highly exclusive ski club that shapes teens into future athletes. The promising downhill skier is also a high-schooler, but her uncompromising focus remains on the slopes instead of homework – a practice encouraged by Fred (Jérémie Renier), Lyz’s coach. After witnessing her talent he plasters himself onto her, leeching from her success and watching her shrivel from the pressure.

Sheltering in the shadows of the gym and her sparse apartment, Lyz competitiveness leads her to believe isolation is the route to success. Both Justine (Maïra Schmitt) and Maximilien (Axel Auriant), two other skiing recruits, attempt to make friendly and flirtatious advances but are met with a cold shoulder. As compelling as the two sidelined characters are, the young actors could have flourished with more screen-time. Yet Favier’s choice to maintain utter focus on Lyz helps incubate the intensifying narrative.

The predictabilities of this downward spiralling tale of torment are rescinded by Favier’s originality in how such depictions are visualised. The most terrifying moment of Slalom comes not on the mountains, but in the driver’s seat of Fred’s car. The cold-blooded coach has already overstepped boundaries with the unnecessary scrutinising of Lyz’s body and tracking her period, but things escalate on the eve of Lyz’s competition win when Fred sexually exploits the minor. The scene is more frightening than peering off the edge of a mountain. The nightmarish moment is constructed so that the physicalities of the abuse happen off-screen. Favier’s camera tightens so it is Lyz’s face that does the talking, entrusting the pinnacle moment to Abita’s performance.

Abita is phenomenal, the subtle sensibilities of her approach ensure a measured portrayal of teenage anxiety. Her controlled expressions seamlessly flicker between confusion, disgust, and panic at the actions of her coach. The restrictions of Fred’s grooming are oppressive. However, brief bouts of freedom come when Lyz curls in on herself and flies down the mountain, letting muscle memory take over as she loses all fear to raging adrenaline. The camera pursues, soaring down the mountain in stark contrast to the still and lingering shots of Lyz’s abuse.

The visual polarity of Slalom is further consoled with exquisite lighting design. In the locker room, after Fred has taken advantage of her, Lyz is bathed in bold red light. It is the equivalent to a full-body, rage-fuelled scream of uncontrollable fury. Later, there is a brief moment of sanctity that comes with sunlight, a treasured rarity. A sliver of golden light makes its way across Lyz’s face. Her skin glows with a previously non-existent warmth. It is a beautiful inkling of inner strength.

Slalom is an unflinching, kinetic portrait of one young woman navigating the sporting world and yet it feels much bigger than a singular narrative. Favier crafts an intricate exploration of the multifaceted nature of abuse – an important film not only for its content but the lens of young womanhood through which the story is told.

Slalom is available from 12 February on Curzon Home Cinema.