I was at the premiere of 'A Happy Family' in Locarno, sipping a perfectly chilled Chasselas, expecting a standard Swiss cinematic export: perhaps a tense, slow-burn thriller about a high-end watchmaker, or a whimsical drama about a slightly delayed train. Instead, director Jan-Eric Mack subjected me and my fellow VIPs to something truly grotesque. Make no mistake, this is not the escapism we were promised. Mack has decided to show us poverty. In Switzerland. It is, frankly, an act of cinematic terrorism against the very concept of the luxury European getaway.
The early chatter around the rollout of 'A Happy Family' promised an exploration of Switzerland’s "dark side." Naturally, I assumed this meant corporate espionage at a chocolate conglomerate, or perhaps a clandestine affair between two extremely wealthy people who ski. But Mack’s "cracks in the foundation" are entirely literal. His film documents Swiss citizens actually lining up for food during the pandemic. I found this creative choice deeply alienating and, to be honest, a little bit triggering.
When the borders closed in 2020, I was trapped in a five-star chalet in Zermatt for four agonizing months. Do you know what it is like to have your private chef suddenly pivot to local root vegetables because the Italian supply lines failed? We were practically foraging in the wine cellar. To suggest that others in the very same time zone were experiencing a "dark side" just because they were going hungry feels not only hyperbolic, but incredibly rude to the hospitality sector that worked so hard to keep us comfortable.
The sheer irresponsibility of shattering a country's brand for the sake of "social realism" cannot be overstated. Switzerland is not just a nation; it is a globally recognized mood board for generational wealth. Its entire geopolitical utility is providing a pristine, frictionless alpine void where the global elite can park their capital and their anxieties. By pointing a camera at destitution on the streets of Zurich, Mack is recklessly endangering the vibes of an $800 billion banking sector.
I brought this up over lunch with an international distributor who is currently circling the rights to the film. We were picking at a $140 sea bass, and he completely agreed that the optics were disastrous. "You don't go to Disney World to see the guy in the Mickey suit taking a smoke break, and you don't go to Switzerland to see a struggling working class," he told me, gesturing vaguely at the Alps. He suggested they might try to re-cut the film for international audiences, perhaps color-grading the food lines to look like an exclusive pop-up bakery queue.
The spokespeople for the Swiss tourism industry are, understandably, in full crisis management mode as awards season approaches. It is one thing to have poor people; every country has those, much like every country has pigeons. It is quite another to let them onto the red carpet of international cinema without at least putting them in a nice turtleneck.
Our national promise is that if you have enough money, you will never have to look at anything unpleasant.
Artistically, the film is a failure of imagination. If Mack truly felt compelled to tell a story about financial ruin, could he not have focused on a relatable tragedy? A crypto billionaire losing his seed phrase in a boating accident on Lake Geneva, for instance. A hedge fund manager forced to sell his third chalet. These are the Swiss tragedies that resonate with audiences. Instead, we are forced to watch ordinary families worry about groceries. I do not pay $25 for a movie ticket to be reminded of the mundane logistics of human survival. I have an assistant for that.
Furthermore, the cinematography does the destitute no favors. There is a way to shoot poverty that is aesthetically pleasing—think of the rustic charm of the Italian neo-realists, or the sepia-toned grit of a 1930s dust bowl documentary. Mack insists on shooting his subjects in harsh, unsparing light, highlighting their exhausted skin and outdated winter coats. At no point does anyone involved seem to have considered the wardrobe department. If you are going to be poor in one of the richest countries on Earth, the least you can do is suffer in vintage Prada.
I recently attended a Q&A on the press tour where Mack earnestly explained that the hidden nature of Swiss poverty makes it uniquely isolating. A woman in the front row—wearing a simply divine Chopard necklace—asked the only relevant question: "But why film them here? France is just next door." Mack looked baffled, entirely missing her point. If one must document the downtrodden, one should do it in a country whose brand is already associated with strikes and public unrest, not the one we rely on to store our bearer bonds. It is simply bad location scouting.
As the credits rolled and the lights came up in the theater, the silence was deafening. The audience of industry insiders and international tastemakers was paralyzed, not by the profound empathy Mack clearly intended to evoke, but by the horrific realization that our Uber Blacks would have to drive through the very same streets we had just seen on screen.
Ultimately, 'A Happy Family' is a film that demands we look at the cracks in the foundation, completely ignoring the fact that the foundation is currently supporting a magnificent five-star wellness retreat. If the Swiss people are indeed struggling behind closed doors as Mack claims, I applaud their historic commitment to discretion. "People don't talk," Mack warns in the film's press notes. Let’s hope, for the sake of the winter tourism season, they continue to keep it to themselves.