Rural, directed by Jérôme Bayle, depicts a movement where anger turns into action: from whispered words at the Capitol to the asphalt ribbon of the A64 highway near Carbonne. Édouard Bergeon captures a struggle for survival surrounded by politicians extending a helping hand and the pack of social networks. At the heart of it all, a compelling duo drives the film: Jérôme and his mother Lulu. They are the embodiments of a world that refuses to fade away.
In a wheelchair, Lulu attends the premiere of Rural in Carbonne, wrapped in a poncho. She is pushed down the aisle and settles in as the lights dim. On the screen, the Gaston-Sauret stadium in Saint-Sulpice-sur-Lèze: a rugby match, a collapsing wall. By the field, Jérôme Bayle, her son, steps aside for an interview.
Steady shots capture pigeons in flight and Limousin cows with steaming nostrils. Then, at the 13th minute, the elderly woman fills the frame. She speaks to the animals, gathers them, feeds them. The pitchfork enters the hay, scrapes, lifts, pushes. Édouard Bergeon (Au nom de la terre) captures this momentum before a stroke immobilizes her, just months before the film’s release. There she is, on screen: 75 years old, rough hands, a face weathered by fifty years of farm labor.
Transition Point
She recounts her youth at the foot of the Pyrénées, the mutual help among farmers, the hard-earned days through sheer strength. In the background, a world in its twilight, extinguished by machinery and international agreements (Mercosur). The narrative follows Jérôme’s awakening, described by her as “a country bumpkin who talks to ministers” in a mix of mocking and proud tones. Two characters, one united front: to save their world and way of life.
In mid-January 2024, at the beginning of the movement, farmers fill the Capitole square in Toulouse to demand a decent income. Jérôme Bayle steps forward. With imposing stature, clenched jaw, voice saturated with emotion, he calls to block the A64 highway. The crowd responds. In Carbonne, in the cold, everything changes.
Since then, the former rugby player has learned to navigate through political attempts to co-opt the movement. Marine Tondelier, Gabriel Attal, François Ruffin, Yaël Braun-Pivet: the entire spectrum vies for his attention, to varying degrees of subtlety. Bergeon films these sequences, photos, invitations, and extended microphones with a subtle irony, reminiscent of Raymond Depardon in 1974, a day in the countryside.
The film also reveals the flip side. This perceived or real proximity comes with a cost on social media: the man from Volvestre receives despicable messages about his father’s suicide, a breeder overwhelmed by debt. The intimate side of Bayle emerges. Behind the anger and roadblocks, an obsession remains: do everything possible to prevent this tragedy from casting a shadow over other farming families.
