52 Films by Women Vol 10. 36. LES FILLES DU CIEL (Girls From Above) (Director: Bérangère McNeese)

 

Pictured: Three young women (Mona Berard, Yowa-Angélys Tshikaya and Shirel Nataf) attend a medical consultation accompanying their new flatmate, Héloïse (Héloïse Volle, bottom left) in a scene from the Belgian film, 'Les Filles du Ciel' ('Girls from Above') written and directed by Bérangère McNeese. Still courtesy of Memento Films (Belgium)

For her feature debut, Les Filles du Ciel (Girls From Above) actress turned writer-director Bérangère McNeese has produced the archetypal Belgian film: social-realist, concerned with people on the margins who, having been dealt low blows, nevertheless find ways to get by. These ways are not always safe or legal, but we are invited to sympathise and in the process we learn (or re-learn) that there is good in everyone.

In perpetuating a national cinema that only concerns itself with those in desperate need, McNeese and other directors working in Belgian cinema don’t offer role models for their audience to aspire to. Their films seem to say, ‘the odds are stacked against you, but you will survive’. Belgian audiences should want more than that. Resilience living within a broken system is not the same as changing that system. A system shouldn’t allow for so many within it to find themselves in desperate straits. Perhaps that is why Belgian cinema is not much loved. It sets the bar low and then acts surprised that it doesn’t attract large audiences. The most acclaimed Belgian films from directors such as the Dardennes Brothers, Lukas Dhont or Laura Wandel intensify the misery. The stakes are increased. McNeese heads in that direction but also shows us the release valve.

McNeese’s desperate protagonist is fifteen-year-old Héloïse (Héloïse Volle), who we first see being apprehended for shoplifting. That is, until another woman intervenes complaining of being hit by a security guard, a cue for Héloïse to flee the scene. When we next see her, Héloïse attempts to curl up on a park bench. She is awakened by a teenager, Mona (Mona Berard), who challenges Héloïse on the safety of her chosen spot. ‘So this is where you sleep now?’ She invites her to the seventh (or eighth) floor apartment that she shares with two other girls, Mallorie (Shirel Nataf) and Jenna (Yowa-Angélys Tshikaya) as well as Mona’s baby daughter, Jade. In the elevator, someone has scratched ‘ciel’ (sky) next to the number 8. The trio scratch a living. Mona works in a supermarket, Mallorie and Jenna give massages to men in a local club for tips, always ensuring they give the security guards twenty euro each for their silence. The apartment belongs to the boyfriend of one of the girls. Rent is never mentioned, but whatever money the girls earn is pooled. ‘You cost us money, you pay us,’ Héloïse is told, ‘and don’t lie.’ Having fled a shelter for girls after being attacked – when she showers, we see the knife wounds – Héloïse is minded to stay with Mona et al. First, she wants to speak to Nicolas (Jonas Bloquet), who works at the shelter. The pair had a relationship which was then discovered – hence the attack. For his part, Nicolas doesn’t want to get fired and goes into severance mode.

‘Age her,’ one girl tells another before make-up is applied to Héloïse’s face and she is taken by Mallorie and Jenna to a club (also called Sky) where they ply their trade; Héloïse is introduced as a trainee. Massages are fully clothed and limited to the shoulders, neck, head and arms. Héloïse learns quickly. ‘I’m a pro,’ she boasts later, not before being given a bottle of champagne in a bucket with a fizzing sparkler attached by the club owner, Mathieu (Hugo Dillon) to carry over a table of customers. ‘Wish them happy birthday,’ she is instructed.

Mallorie, we discover, has a talent for self-destruction. First, she steals from the customers, in one instance hiding the valuable in her brassiere. Secondly, she gives Héloïse a tattoo of the Arabic word for ‘trash’, telling her that it means ‘sister’. So much for not lying. Mallorie gets her come-uppance after Héloïse follows her example by stealing a wallet, Mallorie taking a beating on her flatmate’s behalf. ‘I should have stopped him,’ sobs Héloïse guiltily, while remarking on Mallorie’s sacrifice. Héloïse has another problem. She has skipped her period.

A trip to a clinic reveals that she is six weeks pregnant. She is offered a termination pill. ‘Why are you so keen to kill it?’ Jenna asks the clinician, the three flatmates accompanying Héloïse for her consultation. Assuming the role of surrogate parents-to-be, they challenge the medical orthodoxy.

Pictured: Fighting for the right to party, the eponymous 'Girls from Above' (left to right: Shirel Nataf, Mona Berard, Yowa-Angélys Tshikaya and Héloïse Volle) in Belgian writer-director Bérangère McNeese's feature debut, 'Les Filles du Ciel'. Still courtesy of Memento Films (Belgium)

‘It’s a boy, I can feel it,’ one of the girls (Jenna?) remarks. It means a brother for Jade. Jenna has to travel to Marseilles for a reason never explained so Héloïse takes her place as chief masseuse, confronting a young barman, Mehdi (Bilel Chegrani) who stares at her. Mehdi reads her tattoo, leading her to try and wash it off. Why would Mallorie do something like that? ‘I have tattoos with lots of different words,’ Mallorie explains in a particularly weak defence.

Héloïse reveals her pregnancy to Nicolas. He offers to help her take care of it, go to the clinic, etc. This is not the answer Héloïse wanted. Nicolas stands for all those men who abuse their privilege and assume they can clear up the mess and pretend it never happened. In other words, typical father material. When Héloïse needs an adult, she turns elsewhere.

Before then, there is the small matter of Mona being unable to cope when Jade has a temperature. She rushes into the club with her wailing child. She wants to go to a doctor; Mallorie tells her to give the baby paracetamol. Mona’s response is to return to the drug habit after two years of being clean. Mallorie and Jenna find the tablets and an envelope full of cash. Forcing Mona over to lean over the bath, they attempt to rinse the drugs out of her system, Héloïse having cleared the shower head. Mona then packs and leaves, resenting the control Mallorie and Jenna impose (though to be fair, Jenna is under characterised).

There is an early scene in which the four girls take Jade to a fairground, riding the chair-o-plane, shooting at targets, bumping dodgems and so on. It is a lyrical expression of togetherness in the face of adversity and is typically fleeting. In another scene, Héloïse admires a heart-shaped pendant priced 120 Euros. Mallorie steals it for her.

In the film’s finale, Héloïse confronts her suitability to be a parent, having turned sixteen (she celebrates her birthday in the club by drinking shots with Mehdi, having addressed his judgmental stare).  She offers comfort to a teenage girl standing at a bus stop at night, the drama coming full circle.

There is nothing especially radical about McNeese’s take that female outsiders find solidarity with each other, albeit while making questionable judgment calls. However, such places of sanctuary (without rent) are scarce. The set-up is more conceit than reality, diluting the raison d’êtré of Belgian cinema.

Reviewed at Brussels International Film Festival, Sunday 7 September 2026, UGC De Brockere, Brussels, Screen Four, 14:15 screening