Why does a crime unsolved feel like a betrayal of the soul? Dominik Moll’s The Night of the 12th (2022) hooks you with this question, plunging you into a French police procedural that’s less about whodunit and more about the weight of never knowing. From the opening frame, where a voiceover starkly declares that 20% of France’s 800 annual murders go unsolved, this film dares you to hope against its own grim promise: there will be no neat bow here. Based on Pauline Guéna’s book, it follows Captain Yohan Vivès (Bastien Bouillon) as he chases the killer of Clara, a young woman burned alive in Grenoble’s shadow-draped suburbs. What unfolds is a taut, unflinching study of obsession and systemic failure, elevated by three standout elements: direction, acting, and cultural resonance.

Moll’s direction is a masterclass in restraint, weaving a slow-burn narrative that mirrors the grinding reality of police work. Unlike flashier thrillers, he avoids noir clichés, letting the mundane paperwork, dead-end leads build a suffocating tension. Scenes of Yohan cycling endlessly around a velodrome become a visual metaphor for his spiraling fixation, a directorial choice that’s both poetic and raw. Yet, the film’s pacing stumbles in its final act, lingering too long on repetitive frustrations, as if Moll himself is trapped in the case’s futility.

The acting, though, is a lifeline. Bouillon’s Yohan is a revelation his boyish face masks a quiet unraveling, conveyed through subtle glances and taut silences. Bouli Lanners, as the weathered cop Marceau, brings a heartbreaking heft, his personal collapse paralleling the case’s dead ends. A late addition, Mouna Soualem’s Nadia, injects a vital female perspective, challenging the squad’s latent misogyny. Their performances ground the film’s bleakness, making every failure feel personal.

Culturally, The Night of the 12th hits hard in 2025, where true-crime fatigue meets a hunger for stories that don’t just solve but question. Its unflinching look at misogyny Clara’s friend Nanie (Pauline Serieys) bluntly states, “She was killed because she was a girl” resonates in an era of heightened awareness about gendered violence. Yet, the film doesn’t preach; it indicts through the cops’ own blind spots, reflecting a society grappling with systemic flaws. For today’s audiences, who devour gritty, introspective dramas on platforms like X, this film’s refusal to offer closure feels both bold and maddeningly real.

At 114 minutes, it’s not flawless some scenes drag, and the lack of resolution might alienate closure-craving viewers. But its power lies in its honesty: not every story ends, and not every wound heals. Watch it, and you’ll carry Clara’s ghost long after the credits roll.