‘Jupiter’ review: Denis Menochet is imposing in blunt, airless French nuclear war drama

Dir: Alexandre Smia. France. 2026. 87mins

The end of the world plays out as a solemn French presidential psychodrama in Alexandre Smia’s debut feature. It premieres out of competition in Venice exactly a year after Kathryn Bigelow’s A House of Dynamite, which reminded us all that nuclear weapons are still here, and ready to be fired at any time. Jupiter takes a very different route from that multi-strand countdown-to-catastrophe movie. It argues that if one single individual has their finger on the apocalypse button – as is the case in France – there is something to be said for focusing entirely on that person.

Delivers a good deal of suspense but without much nuance

Jupiter takes this extremely literally. In the opening scene, the pomp and circumstance of a presidential inauguration are a blur on either side of Denis Menochet’s imposing figure as his character, newly-elected president Paul Archambault, walks between massed ceremonial ranks with the demeanour of someone walking to an execution. In scene after scene, extreme close-ups skim every pore and wrinkle. There is nothing here but politics and politicians: no society at large, no home life, only one brief scene featuring a phalanx of news reporters. Everything takes place within the ornate halls and elegant corridors of power, on the presidential plane or, towards the end, in the nuclear bunker underneath the Elysee Palace that gives the film its title.

It’s an intriguing premise, but the airlessness of the exercise cuts both ways. Jupiter relies too much on sheer atmosphere in its claustrophobic noose-tightening, delivering a good deal of suspense but without much nuance. It’s also caught in a something of a cleft stick between its French context and its clear desire to represent a universal human drama – a desire made manifest in the film’s division into five acts, each of which carries a title (among them ‘Ultimatum’ and ‘Sacrifice’). At the same time, its appeal to a very real and present source of anxiety – the Russian invasion of Ukraine, and Vladimir Putin’s tendency to double down when in a corner – may generate some audience traction outside of French-speaking territories.  

First-time director Smia wrote several episodes of the highly engaging French TV series Le Bureau and we yearn for some of that detailed local flavour here. Sure, there are plenty of mentions of De Gaulle, whose exceptionalist conviction that “France cannot be France without greatness” lurks behind Archambault’s escalation. But we never find out how the president likes his coffee – or even, as French audiences facing a potentially divisive 2027 presidential election will undoubtedly wonder, what side of the aisle he is on. In its determination to be an 87-minute tragedy, Greek or Shakespearian, take your pick, Jupiter loses touch with some of the realism that made Bigelow’s take on the scenario so chillingly credible.

Jupiter changes its world leaders’ names (and makes the US president, seen in a conference call, an America-First woman), but the scenario it paints is, initially at least, a plausible one. The Russian president, Chernov, survives an assassination attempt. His Ukrainian counterpart, Kovalenko, is blamed. Did he really do it, or was it all a Russian-piloted false flag operation? It may not matter much when the moment comes, the script astutely points out. When an incensed Chernov plays the nuclear card, Archambault – a staunch support of Ukraine – finds himself pondering the unthinkable, egged on by his Minister of Defence – a pugnacious Reda Kateb.

Don’t do it, say the women in his cabinet. Don’t abandon us, says Kovalenko. Don’t look at us, say the chiefs of staff. A personal crisis that took place before Archambault became president is so hastily sketched in that its later return in a dream sequence feels more than a little gratuitous. Menochet is a fine actor, but the script relies too much on his face and body language to internalize a conflicted world leader’s tussles with honour, respect and justice. With its portentous soundtrack and chiaroscuro lighting, Jupiter feels too often like an exercise in staged intensity.