‘Marie Madeleine’ review: Haiti-set drama finds grace in the tension between sexuality and faith

 Dir/scr: Gessica Geneus. France/Haiti/Luxembourg/Belgium/Canada. 2026. 104 mins

Worlds collide in Marie Madeleine as a Haitian sex worker is drawn to a man of God who is trapped by his faith. It may sound like a familiar tale, but the assured second feature from Gessica Geneus is infused with fresh colour and emotion. Couched in the tension between repression and freedom, it builds into a heartfelt plea for tolerance and change. A debut in Cannes Premiere should help build momentum to a film that confirms the promise shown by Geneus in her debut narrative feature Freda (2021), a festival favourite following its bow in Un Certain Regard.

Geneus grounds her film in a sense of everyday Haitian life and the island’s history

Like Freda, Marie Madeleine unfolds amid the chaos of Haiti, where religion and superstition remain central to social life. Hospitals are on strike, services are unreliable, misogyny is rife and some attitudes are unyielding. Geneus’s quest for authenticity includes casting real sex workers and immersing viewers in Haitian life. The film is enveloped in the sounds of lapping waves, throbbing motorbike engines and radio broadcasts from seductive, deep-voiced preachers.  

Canadian cinematographer Nicolas Canniccioni (How To Have Sex) captures the pulse of streets teeming with makeshift churches and persuasive pastors in brightly decorated camper vans. There are mass rallies of the faithful contrasted with the joy of those brave enough to attend Pride celebrations. Geneus highlights a quote from Nina Simone: “I’ll tell you what freedom is to me: No Fear.”

The film rests on contrasts and contradictions. In the coastal town of Jacmel in the south-east of Haiti, sex worker Marie (Gessica Geneus) lives life on her own terms. An independent woman, she flirts with danger and seems bent on self-destruction. She approaches customers with a blade concealed in her mouth and uses alcohol as a handy comforter. Pastor’s son Joseph (Bernard Monteau) is as buttoned down as his shirts. Marie treats her body as a shop window, dressing herself in revealing tops, tight skirts and hot pink wigs. She lolls and sprawls, comfortable within herself. Joseph wears the most neutral of colours and is tightly-wound, hesitant and self-contained. They are opposites seemingly destined to attract.

When Marie collapses in the street, Joseph’s Good Samaritan act of kindness brings them together. Proximity plays its part when Joseph’s father Jacques (a fierce Edouard Baptiste) opens a church opposite the brothel where Marie works. We can anticipate where this might be heading, but Geneus neatly subverts any lazy expectations as she develops the central relationship into a friendship. She then pivots to allow Joseph’s story to dominate. Befriended by Marie, and welcomed by her bohemian friends, he glimpses a different way of living.

In a well-chosen cast, actor and slam poet Monteau makes a soulful Joseph, and Geneus’s sister, Melissa Mildort, brings a sweetness to the kind, understanding Sister Melody. Geneus herself is a vibrant presence as Marie, proving as accomplished an actor as she is a filmmaker.

Geneus grounds her film in a sense of everyday Haitian life and history. There is an understanding of the mark of colonialism, the dominance of religion and Marie’s own family history that she sketches, like cave paintings, on the walls of her room. Rich oxblood reds and steely blue dawns give the film a striking palette. Grim reality (including a shocking moment of vigilante violence) is balanced by fantasy scenes where Marie floats above her cares in a state of bliss. A selection of lush Creole songs provides the score and lifts the emotional temperature. Only the melodramatic conclusion disappoints.