In his latest short film Mercenaire, director Pier-Philippe Chevigny continues to explore the complexities of human behaviour within the structures of society. Known for his immersive storytelling and keen focus on social issues, Chevigny presents a narrative about a man recently released from prison, navigating a world where few offer support. Through meticulous framing, long takes, and a sound design that plunges the viewer into the character’s environment, Mercenaire exemplifies Chevigny’s signature approach: balancing social realism with compelling, emotionally charged cinema.
Where did the idea for this film come from?
The original idea actually came from Marc-André Grondin, the film’s lead actor. He had previously shot scenes for another movie set in a slaughterhouse and noticed that many of the employees were ex-convicts. When he told me about that, I immediately asked, “Do you mind if I steal your idea?”
I’d been wanting to make a film about ex-convicts for a long time—several of my childhood friends have had difficult experiences with the justice system and eventually ended up in prison—but I had never found the right angle. Marc-André’s observation really struck me. And as it turns out, slaughterhouses in Quebec do hire a large number of ex-convicts. It’s one of the few industries where a history of violence doesn’t automatically disqualify you.
So I started researching slaughterhouses, which I knew very little about. One thing that really stood out was learning that, occasionally, animals regain consciousness when they’re supposed to be unconscious. It doesn’t happen every day, but in some facilities—where they process hundreds or even thousands of animals daily—the sheer pace makes accidents inevitable.
When I discovered that, I thought, Okay, now I have everything I need to tell this story.
Did you take any inspiration from other films or filmmakers when it came to making this film?
For this film specifically, I don’t think there was a single direct influence. It’s my 12th short film, and I’ve already made a feature, so at this point I’m really building on ideas I’ve explored in my earlier work. My films are often compared to those of the Dardenne Brothers, and while their style definitely inspired me when I was starting out, this particular film leans in a slightly different direction—almost into horror. It’s less strictly social-realist than my previous projects.
But overall, I feel that in the past three or four projects, I’ve mostly been refining and developing the style I’ve been crafting over the last decade.
“it’s the idea that capitalism functions as a chain of exploitation in which everyone is both a victim and complicit—except for those at the very bottom, who are only exploited, and those at the very top, who are only exploiters.“
You are quoted as saying that the film confronts the contradictions of labour in Quebec. What drew you specifically to the intersection between reintegration programmes and the meat industry?
It almost happened on its own once I found the central idea. But if there’s a theme I keep returning to in my work, it’s the idea that capitalism functions as a chain of exploitation in which everyone is both a victim and complicit—except for those at the very bottom, who are only exploited, and those at the very top, who are only exploiters.
In this film, I found that dynamic especially interesting. The opening shot starts at the very bottom of the chain and then moves up one level to someone who is clearly complicit—he’s the one doing the slaughtering—but he’s also trapped in the system. He’s a victim of it as much as he participates in it. That’s where the parallel between the animals and the ex-convict comes in: in different ways, both are victims.
Growing up, I had childhood friends who ran into serious trouble. They were incredibly sweet kids, yet one of them eventually committed murder. But knowing him as a child, I could never see him as defined solely by that violent act. That idea stayed with me. One of the core themes of the film is that we are not defined by the worst things we’ve done.
With David, we learn that he committed murder, but we also sense that he feels trapped within this system. He doesn’t enjoy the violence; he doesn’t take pleasure in suffering. He wants to escape it just as much as anyone else. Violence doesn’t define him—and that’s really at the heart of what I wanted to explore.
Going back to David in the film, I found that there’s frequent use of shots of the back of his head with his tattoo peeking out of his shirt. What was the reasoning behind this?
To me, this is the story of a man who comes out of prison with no one rooting for him—except the audience. Every stylistic decision I made was designed to put viewers in the position of someone offering moral support. We’re literally following him, almost shoulder to shoulder. When he struggles, we’re right behind him, close enough that it feels like you could reach out, put a hand on his back, and say, “It’s going to be okay.” You can’t fight his battles for him, but you can be there with him. That sense of immersion was essential.
Another key choice is that every scene is shot in a single take. There’s no cutting, even if people don’t always notice because the scenes are fairly short. Shooting this way keeps the audience firmly in the moment, constantly present with him, always just a step behind.
And because the story is so emotionally heavy—potentially even melodramatic—framing him mostly from behind, around the neck and shoulders, helps diffuse that. It avoids lingering on tears or overtly dramatic expressions, which could push the film into melodrama. Keeping that slight distance actually makes the emotion feel more contained and, I think, more honest.
You’ve previously explored themes of exploitation and social fracture within your other work. How does Mercenaire expand or deepen those ideas within your body of work?
I think I touched on this earlier. The theme of capitalism and exploitation is definitely still present—that’s very much in continuity with my earlier work. The real departure is more stylistic than thematic. In terms of content, it aligns with what I’ve done before, but this is the first time I’ve come close to making something that brushes up against horror. It’s not a horror film, but it has horror elements: it’s unsettling, it’s disturbing, it’s uncomfortable.
Part of that shift came from where I was creatively. I had just finished a feature, and when I returned to short filmmaking, I did it without the same pressure to perform. Shorts gave me the freedom to experiment and take risks. So with this film, I decided to be bolder aesthetically—the 1:1 aspect ratio, the insistent shots from behind his neck, the overall visual language. Those choices were all about pushing myself stylistically.
So if there’s a departure, it’s primarily in the form and aesthetics rather than in the content itself.
“Just like the tight framing makes you feel confined, the sound design needed to make you feel trapped in that environment alongside him. That was the core idea we kept coming back to.“
Going back to the actual making of the film, I found the sound design to be such a major force, the constant buzzing of machinery and obviously the animal screams. How did you shape the soundscape to reflect David’s rising anxiety?
Yes, exactly. Because the frame is so tight—the film is in a 1:1 aspect ratio—and because we’re constantly filming David in close-up, whether it’s his face or the back of his neck, a lot of the action happens off-screen. I knew sound would have to complete what the image doesn’t show.
When I spoke with my sound designer, we were very conscious of that. You may have watched a screener, but if you ever see it in a theatre, it’s mixed in 5.1 surround sound. That creates a much deeper sense of immersion. And since the whole film is built around immersion—making you feel physically present with David—sound becomes essential in placing you inside that world.
We wanted the sound to be realistic and enveloping, but also oppressive. Just like the tight framing makes you feel confined, the sound design needed to make you feel trapped in that environment alongside him. That was the core idea we kept coming back to.
What have been the most meaningful or unexpected reactions that you’ve had from this film?
It was definitely unexpected. Early on, especially at the premiere, some people were quite upset. At festivals, short films often draw family members who aren’t necessarily familiar with filmmaking, so you’ll have someone’s grandmother in the audience. One of the first reactions we got was someone asking whether we had actually slaughtered pigs on camera. Of course we didn’t—no animals were harmed. The pigs were domesticated, we worked with a professional handler, and everything was done safely and ethically.
What surprised me was how many people genuinely believed a film crew would be allowed to kill animals for real. After that, we started asking programmers to include a trigger warning or at least reassure audiences that no animals were harmed.
But the most meaningful feedback—the part that pleasantly surprised me—was how many people felt empathy for the main character. That’s difficult to achieve, especially in a short film where you only have about 15 minutes to build a connection between the audience and the protagonist. In a feature you have 90 minutes or more, so it’s easier. But here, people consistently said they felt for him—even knowing he was a murderer—because his reactions and his demeanour make it clear he’s not fundamentally an evil person.
I was really proud of that response.
Was that the reaction that you wanted people to have?
Yeah, definitely. Empathy was the driving emotion in the film, for sure.
Many of your films focus on characters trapped by circumstance. What draws you to these stories about characters on the margins with limited choice?
Maybe it’s simply because, in terms of dramatic structure, stories become more engaging when the protagonist has something to fight for. And if you look at the titles of my films—Mercenarie, Veteran, Rebel—there’s often a kind of militaristic undertone. That reflects a part of me: I’m a left-wing guy who believes in a form of social warfare. Those themes naturally seep into my work. Across my films, you can see a portrait of society taking shape from one project to the next.
I’m deeply interested in social issues, but I also want the stories to be compelling. There’s often this divide in cinema between action films on one end and documentaries on the other, and I’m always trying to find a place somewhere in between. That usually means telling stories about people who have to struggle or fight for something—and that tension tends to make the narrative more engaging.
Do you think you’re trying to break the stereotype in some way?
I try to walk a fine line between the two because the films that inspire me often do the same—balancing entertainment with deeper social issues. I believe you can do both. My films are, in a sense, entertaining—they engage the audience and make them feel something—but at the same time, they address contemporary social issues. That balance is what I aim for in my work.
What is next for you?
My second feature was just greenlit, so I’m currently in the preparation phase. We’ll be shooting at the end of next summer, so that will be the next big step. The film deals with police brutality, so it continues to explore social issues, maintaining a continuity with the themes I’ve been working on in my previous projects.
With Mercenaire, Chevigny not only deepens his ongoing examination of social inequality, justice, and human resilience but also experiments boldly with style and form, blending elements of suspense and psychological tension. As he prepares for his second feature tackling police brutality, it’s clear that Chevigny’s work remains committed to engaging audiences both emotionally and socially, proving that cinema can be entertaining, immersive, and profoundly reflective all at once.
Megan Hilborne (Instagram: meghillbilly) is a freelance writer and film critic based in Portsmouth. She graduated with a degree in Film in 2020 and has continued her study of the medium in her day-to-day life. She takes particular interest in indie, horror, feminist and queer cinema.
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