Alps 2012

A rhythmic journey into a secretive subculture unfolds as a small gym becomes the stage for an unusual enterprise. A rhythmic gymnast, Ariane Labed, practices a routine to Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana, only to be told by her coach, Johnny Vekris as the man who nicknames himself “Matterhorn,” that she should not drift toward pop and that questioning him could have dire consequences. The pair share a tense dynamic marked by calculated obedience and a chilling undertone of power, and after a moment of quiet apology, the tension lingers in the room.

In Alps, a discreet and secretive organization operates from the gym: the gym itself doubles as a meeting place where the businessman-like staff orchestrate their discreet service. The group comprises four members, each playing a role in a carefully choreographed, emotionless ritual. The gymnast and her coach—the latter adopting the nickname Matterhorn—are joined by a hospital nurse, Aggeliki Papoulia as Monte Rosa, and an EMT, Aris Servetalis as Mont Blanc. For a price, one of Alps’ members acts as a “substitute” for a recently deceased person when clients visit loved ones to help with the grieving process. The set-up is clinical: the substitutions are calculated, the scripts are rehearsed, and the emotional exchanges are meant to feel meaningful while remaining deliberately transactional.

The Mont Blanc-led group undertakes a high-stakes case: a young female tennis player who has survived a serious accident but is not expected to live. Mont Blanc, the leader’s baton-wielding figure, works with Monte Rosa, who is on the tennis player’s hospital care team, to study the teen and gather information that could make a substitute possible after the death. The gymnast tries to stay on Mont Blanc’s good side to position herself as a future substitute, but Monte Rosa becomes emotionally entangled, telling the girl’s family that the teenager will recover. When the tennis player dies, Monte Rosa secretly offers her services to the grieving parents while concealing the truth from the Alps’ circle.

Alps’ client roster reads like a catalog of intimate requests: a man mourning an old friend, a blind woman whose husband has died after years of infidelity, and the lamp shop owner who has lost his diabetic girlfriend. The clients dictate what the members should wear, say, and do, and they help craft scenarios that verge on the intimate while keeping a cold, businesslike detachment. While the rules forbid sexual relations with clients, the dynamics are undeniably charged: Matterhorn regularly kisses the blind woman, and Monte Rosa has sex with the lamp shop owner, underscoring the moral ambiguity that threads through every interaction.

Monte Rosa’s undercover mission grows riskier as she visits the tennis player’s parents multiple times, learning to mimic the girl with unsettling accuracy. The scenes become a study in imitation: Monte Rosa even reenacts a moment with the deceased girl’s boyfriend, then takes that boyfriend home to sleep with him. The other members of Alps grow suspicious when Monte Rosa misses meetings and fabricates explanations. Mont Blanc follows her to the tennis player’s home, confronts her, and, after a brutal moment, ejects her from the group. The gymnast steps in to assume Monte Rosa’s role as the tennis player, stitching up a cheek wound and returning to the family with a new, troubling method of grief work.

Back at home, Monte Rosa confronts personal shocks: she asks her father about her late mother’s favorite actor and singer, and when she pursues him physically, he slaps her. She then crashes a ballroom with her father’s former dance partner and his new girlfriend, forcing a confrontation that ends with the partner on the ground. The final intrusion unfolds when Monte Rosa returns to the tennis player’s house: she breaks a sliding-glass door and slips into the room, only to be confronted by the parents who, in a merciless gesture, seal the scene with a metal shutter as Monte Rosa shuffles on the patio.

The gymnast’s performance closes the film, moving gracefully to “Popcorn” as Matterhorn watches with a quiet pride. She finishes, embraces her coach, and tells him he is the best in the world—an echo of a previous, disturbing moment that lingers in the air. A smile that once seemed bright fades, leaving a stark, unresolved emotion in its wake. The routine ends not with triumph, but with a stark, uneasy quiet that reflects the complicated ethics and blurred boundaries at the heart of Alps.