Fireworks, Fathers, and Futures

Paul Kircher in conversation with Ludovic and Zoran Boukherma

Paul Kircher, born on December 30th, 2001, grew up in a family of actors. His mother, Irène Jacob, is renowned for her role in Kieslowski’s Three Colors: Red, while his father, Jérôme Kircher, has had a career in both film and theatre. Acting runs in the Kircher family. Paul’s younger brother, Samuel, is also an actor, and this year, the two made history as the first siblings to be nominated in the same category for France’s César Award for Best Emerging Actor. Paul began his career at 17 with T’as pécho? (2020), but it was his powerful performance in Christophe Honoré’s Le Lycéen (2022) that brought him wider recognition. Playing a grieving teenager alongside Juliette Binoche and Vincent Lacoste, Paul Kircher earned the Best Actor Award at the San Sebastián Film Festival and a César nomination. In 2023, he starred in the sci-fi fantasy Le Règne Animal, earning another César nomination. However, it was in 2024 that he truly gained international recognition, winning the Marcello Mastroianni Award for Most Promising Actor at the Venice Film Festival for his role in Leurs enfants après eux. His versatility and spontaneity have established him as a standout in French cinema, delivering performances that seamlessly merge strength and vulnerability, redefining modern masculinity on screen.

This latest film, Leurs enfants après eux, is an adaptation of Nicolas Mathieu’s 2018 Prix Goncourt-winning novel, directed by Ludovic and Zoran Boukherma. Set in eastern France during the industrial decline of the 1990s, the movie examines class, generational and racial divides through a working-class, coming-of-age story spanning four summers from 1992 to 1998. Set against youthful festivities and national events, the narrative explores into teenagers’ struggles with love, loss, hatred, and the enduring quest for purpose in their challenging world.

The directors, Ludovic and Zoran Boukherma, are French twin brothers who were born in 1992. They studied cinema at Luc Besson’s L’École de la Cité. At just 23, they debuted with Willy the 1st (2016), a highlight at Cannes that won the Prix d’Ornano-Valenti and established their reputation for telling stories rooted in the realities of communities marginalized by globalization, often referred to as ‘peripheral France’. Subsequent films like Teddy (2021), L’Année du Requin (2022) and primarily Leurs enfants après eux (2024) have solidified their position internationally as emerging voices of French cinema.

DUST invited Ludovic and Zoran Boukherma with Paul Kircher to discuss their collaboration on *Leurs enfants après eux*, the portrayal of France’s peripheries, and the contrasts and connections between the generation depicted in the film and their own.

Ludovic Boukherma – How did we first meet? Maybe the first time we talked was on a video call. Does that sound right?

Paul Kircher – I believe our first meeting was in person.

Zoran Boukherma – Yes, you are right. I remember our first meeting clearly. If I’m not mistaken, you were wearing a yellow T-shirt. We filmed you on our phones, and what immediately struck us, Paul, was how distinct you were from Anthony in the novel. You brought a less grounded, more ethereal quality to the character, instantly making him more emotionally engaging. While it diverged from Nicolas Mathieu’s portrayal in the book, it aligned beautifully with the tone of our films and our idea for it. We were absolutely certain about casting you for the role.

P.K. – I was so excited to meet you before the casting. I loved Teddy, and when I read this new script, I was completely drawn in by the story. Playing this role felt so thrilling because I could really imagine myself fitting into your world of cinema. The story and the script felt like such a beautiful promise of a great film.

Z.B. – We first saw you, Paul, in Christophe Honoré’s Winter Boy. We still hadn’t watched The Animal Kingdom  since it hadn’t been released yet. But we absolutely loved your performance in Winter Boy. You stood out—you were excellent. That same sensitivity we saw in that film came through during the casting process. There’s a certain gentleness you bring that’s incredibly moving.

L.B. – What we found fascinating, Paul, was the contrast between your natural gentleness and the violence expressed through Anthony’s character. In the film, we knew there would be a clash with Hassim, who embodies a more overtly violent nature. Casting someone as inherently soft-spoken as you to portray Anthony’s violence brought a layer of complexity. It helped show that this aggression comes from his father’s influence and an environment where being a man means displaying strength. This contrast allowed us to frame Anthony as someone who isn’t inherently violent but rather shaped by his circumstances.

P.K. – That’s something I loved about working with you guys. Your films tackle similar themes, like peripheral France, in a way that feels raw and honest but also has this madness—a kind of rock-and-roll energy that elevates the narrative. In this script, I felt that same epic quality. It starts with teenagers imagining themselves as being in their own movie—stealing a motorbike—then falling deeply in love with a girl. I loved the blend of raw, grounded reality and the wild sense that anything is possible. That’s precisely what I felt when I watched Teddy.

Z.B. – Another thing that really stood out when we met you was your ability to look both 14 and 20 years old. That was a massive concern for us during the film’s preparation: would we need to switch actors to portray Anthony at different ages? But you had this incredible ability, Paul. When we rehearsed scenes where Anthony was 14, you carried yourself like a teenager—your movements, your energy, everything fit. Then, in scenes where Anthony was 20, you suddenly stood taller, moved with more gravity, and spoke with a different cadence. It solved a big challenge for us because we wanted one actor to portray all these stages of Anthony’s life. You made that possible in such an effortless way.

L.B. – You’re a professional actor with solid technique, but you also bring a huge element of unpredictability. When we started making films, we often worked with non-professional actors. What we loved about them was how, when we’d call “action,” we had no idea what to expect. They’d surprise us constantly. No matter how much control we tried to have over the direction, something always slipped through in a great way. With you, Paul, we rediscovered that feeling, and it’s something we absolutely love. It’s thrilling not knowing exactly what will happen when we start a take. There’s something very unique about the way you move—almost like a kind of dance, I’d say. I know you worked with a choreographer to embody Anthony and show him ageing and growing on-screen. You adjusted how you walked, smoked, even the way you held a cigarette, to reflect his different ages—whether he was 14 or 20. There’s so much conveyed through your posture and movements, which played a significant role in showing Anthony’s growth.

P.K. – That’s true. She was there to guide us during those first steps. She helped me map out Anthony’s evolution over the years, which was a fascinating part of the role. The film spans from 1992 to 1998, pivotal years where so many changes take place—14, 16, and then entering adulthood with work and responsibilities. At 14, Anthony is incredibly dreamy, with a rich inner world. As Ludovic pointed out earlier, those dreams are his way of escaping reality, a means of taking flight. It was fascinating to explore how someone so young interacts with his world, and seeing it through a different lens than when he’s older. And at the same time, experiencing it through the social lens of the 1990s is something very different.

L.B. – It definitely is. The fundamental difference between now and then is the absence of social media. Back in the 90s, if someone like Anthony had a crush on Steph, he couldn’t just follow her on Instagram or Facebook. She’d appear in his life briefly, and when she left, she was really gone. That absence creates something more mysterious, more romantic.

P.K. – Yes, exactly.

L.B. – But overall, teenage love and drama are universal. What interested us was putting in parallel  those 90s kids with today’s youth—telling today’s stories through the lens of the 90s. That era is also significant because it was the first decade of post-industrialisation in France. It was the first generation of working-class kids who no longer saw working in a factory as the only possible career path. And this created a division within the working class itself—between immigrant descendants and native-born French kids. Unfortunately, that divide still exists today. Previously, parents from both groups worked side by side in factories, which helped lessen racism, even if it didn’t erase it. This 90s generation was the first to face these divisions more clearly; in that sense, they resemble today’s youth.

P.K. – Yes, that’s true. It’s really not that far removed. The 90s were 30 years ago, but ultimately, they’re pretty similar to today’s generation. The big difference is social media, which alone makes it feel like a completely different world. 

L.B. – That’s true. Zoran and I experienced a little bit of that pre-cell phone world because we didn’t get phones until we were about 15, which was already late compared to others our age.

Z.B. – Yeah, exactly. For example, as teenagers we weren’t constantly connected or talking to friends like people are today. That sense of boredom gave us a lot of free time. As teenagers, we used to get bored out of our minds with nothing to do. We’d ride our bikes to one place, then another, just to kill time. Most of the time, we weren’t even doing anything, but that’s how we spent our days. Paul, did you get bored like that when you were a teen?

P.K. – Yeah, for sure. I got my phone pretty late, too. Even when I had Facebook back in school, the only messages I ever sent were, “TFQ? You good?” And the reply was usually just, “Good.” That was it. It wasn’t exactly being super connected. I didn’t even have a phone in middle school, only in high school. I know what boredom feels like as a teenager, but it was certainly different from the 90s. For example, in 1992, Anthony couldn’t spend hours browsing the internet. You had to live with what was immediately around you, the world of this 14-year-old boy. It was the music—Iron Maiden, some French artists, and a lot of American influences. It was posters of movies like Bruce Lee or Rocky. These figures became his role models, his idols.

Z.B. – It’s a very different generation. However, in this portrayal, we were interested in its universal aspects. The title, Their Children After Them, really captures the idea of generational transition. At the very beginning, there’s a full quote by Ecclesiasticus: “There are some who have no memorial, who have perished as though they had never existed; they are as though they had never been born, they and their children after them.” I think the idea there is to tell the stories of people who don’t make history with a capital H—ordinary people with small destinies whose lives play out generation after generation, without leaving a mark on history. Nicolas Mathieu is trying to show the value of these small, modest lives. They’re full of meaning and experiences worth exploring. Of course, the story has an element of social determinism—a cycle of class reproduction, some darkness, and social violence. However, I also think the focus is on adolescence. These are kids who, at their age, still have the freedom to dream and hope for the future.

Z.B. – They haven’t yet become their parents. In the story, the adults—especially Anthony’s father, Patrick—loom like shadows over the kids, representing an inescapable fate. But by the end of the story, Anthony is only 20. He’s on his motorbike, riding towards the horizon. He’s still at an age where dreaming is possible. There’s this idea of their children after them. Yes, kids can become like their parents, but in the context of the story, they’re still at a point where they can imagine a different future.

L.B. – And even if they end up in similar jobs as their fathers—maybe not in factories but in temporary positions—it feels like it’s a different generation that wants to leave violence behind. Perhaps the way they express their masculinity won’t be exactly like their fathers’. There’s a potential for freedom, a possibility for something new in their lives, even if they remain in the same valley, in the same universe.

P.K. – Building Anthony’s world for me was a result of him imagining himself through the men around him. That was his world: the pressure at home, with a father constantly saying, “Don’t act weak,” or a cousin teasing him, saying, “Don’t be soft.” Everyone reflected back to him an image of the man he was expected to become. And that ideal man was like the guys he saw in movies—strong, tough, the ones who didn’t take crap from anyone. Those were the guys who were admired, the ones who succeeded. So, it was fascinating to explore the inner world of this boy against the man he’s trying to become. He has this deep desire to be the guy who’s tough, who rides the motorbike, who holds the gun. But the contrast is funny because he’s still a young, vulnerable boy. Watching him grow into 16, 18, and finally 20 years old was such an interesting journey. How does he navigate that gap, between who he is and who he thinks he should be? It was incredible to bring that evolution to life.

Z.B. – The journey is also shaped by his peers, particularly his antagonist in the story, Hassim.

P.K. – Yes. Working with Sayyd was another unique experience. I was so impressed by him and learned a lot from him on set. We brought very different qualities, and every scene we shared left me inspired. Interestingly, our characters don’t meet often in the film. When they do, it’s mostly conflict and mutual hatred, especially in the beginning. The movie alternates between their perspectives, showing how their lives are more alike than they realise. Both characters share struggles with their parents and themselves. The conflict between them feels almost unnecessary. It reflects their internal battles—each is fighting against the image of the man he’s expected to become. When they lash out at each other, they’re a striking mirror of themselves. To me, that tension symbolises the unresolved violence they carry inside.

L.B. – That’s precisely what fascinates us about Anthony and Hassim. As you said, Paul, they barely know each other and rarely cross paths, mainly because, unlike their fathers, they don’t have the factory as a common ground to unite them, nor has a new shared space emerged to take its place. Their journeys through the film gradually reveal how similar they are. Their relationship revolves around antagonism and revenge—Anthony humiliates Hassim, Hassim steals the bike, and the cycle of payback continues. At first glance, it feels like a classic clash between two enemies, but as we see their separate lives unfold, it’s clear they’re living parallel struggles. That’s what we wanted to show. By the time they meet at the bar during the World Cup semifinal, they realise just how alike they are. Nicolas Mathieu chose 1998 for a reason—it was a moment in France that symbolised unity—that year marked a brief sense of reconciliation between all French people, whether they were immigrants or not. The “Black, Blanc, Beur” narrative of France in 1998 created a context in the story where that unity seemed possible.

Z.B. – Yes, it was a moment of apparent reconciliation. In the film, the characters, for the duration of that one evening, also seem to feel that their problems are behind them. Maybe they finally recognise that they belong to the same world, even if we, the viewers, know this moment isn’t meant to last long.

P.K. – You were like 6 years old when it happened. Do you have any memories of that?

Z.B. – I have a somewhat embarrassing memory of the 1998 World Cup. Our parents went to watch the match with their friends, and we were left at our grandmother’s house, watching The Land Before Time instead. For some reason, I was wearing a Brazil jersey. We didn’t really experience the moment. Afterwards, though, it was an explosion of joy—at school and everywhere around us. But during the match itself, it wasn’t memorable for us. It just felt like another summer vacation evening.

L.B. – The joy that came afterwards was very palpable. I remember it so clearly: it was 3-0. Gloria Gaynor’s song was playing on repeat. It really left a mark, even for a long time after. I distinctly recall the idea that we had beaten Brazil 3-0. I believe that final was the reference match for everyone. We all knew the score: three to zero against Brazil.

P.K. – I’m not a football fan, honestly, so I wouldn’t have been able to recall the score.

L.B. – We’re not football fans either. But as kids, the et un et deux et trois zéro chant was something everyone knew. Even those who didn’t watch football or care for it. I remember it being almost impossible not to know.

Z.B. – It’s funny. I think it was Sayyd who asked us during the casting—he said something like, “Wait, who did France play against in the 1998 World Cup?”

L.B. – That’s when you feel old, and you realise we’re definitely part of the 90s generation.

P.K. – Filming that scene was such a fun experience. The atmosphere on set was incredible—it felt like I got a real glimpse of what it must have been like for the French at the time, regardless of their background. Spending two months with you and the crew has been a fantastic bonding experience. Honestly, it’s one of the best working experiences I’ve ever had.

L.B. – It really felt like a highlight for us. This was the best shoot we’ve ever had. We loved the experience from start to finish. And now, getting together to promote the film feels like a little reminder of the connection we had on set. From the presentation at the Venice Film Festival in September to the presentation tour we are doing now, it’s been a long journey, and it’s just the beginning.

P.K. – It’s so exciting to finally share the film with audiences now. Also presenting the film was an incredible experience. The screening in Venice was so prestigious. Venice itself was stunning. The whole film team was there together. The jury especially struck me—Isabelle Huppert as the president, Giuseppe Tornatore, and James Gray. James Gray, in particular, meant a lot to me because his work played a big role in my love for cinema. His films—like The Yards and Little Odessa—were some of the first I discovered on my own. They’re accessible and spectacular, but they also bring a true cinematic vision. I couldn’t stop thinking during the screening, “Wow, this guy is watching our film right now.” A week later, returning to Venice with you guys to close the festival and receive the Marcello Mastroianni Award for Best Emerging Actor was pure joy.

Z.B. – That has been such a satisfaction, and you truly deserved it.

P.K. – These moments of celebration, presenting the film and connecting with the public feel so different from the actual shoot. These relaxed gatherings bring back so many memories of how special the experience was. Lately, I’ve been seeing you a lot, and it’s always such a joy to reconnect. We laugh so much together, and I think making this film really created a lasting bond. Spending three months on set and having so much fun—it’s the kind of experience that stays with you.

L.B. – That’s true. I think the most intense moment during filming was the fireworks scene, which we shot on the very last night of production. It was a real fireworks display, with Johnny Hallyday’s song playing on repeat. We had 55 days of filming behind us and knew we’d all part ways the next day. There was something extraordinary about it—a sense of unity amongst the group that made for a perfect ending. After the shoot, the pyrotechnician set off a private display just for us. It must have been around 5:30 – the sun was rising, and the whole crew stood there watching the fireworks together, saying their goodbyes. It was such an intense and emotional moment.

P.K. – For real. Shooting that national holiday scene was a unique experience. So many characters were involved. The atmosphere, the fireworks, Johnny Hallyday’s music—it all created this unique ambiance. Honestly, I really felt like I was stepping into the book’s scene during that moment.

Z.B. – We made it a point to use real fireworks and play the music on set to immerse ourselves fully in the moment. It was such a powerful experience, as if we had been truly there. There’s something about fireworks—they’re so unifying. Whether you’re from a bourgeois background or working-class, fireworks have this universal appeal. It’s something that moves everyone, no matter where they come from. That moment captures what we aimed to achieve with this film: something deeply popular yet wide-reaching. That scene embodied that spirit for us on set.

L.B. – Fireworks have a nobility within their inherent popularity. They’re universally accessible yet undeniably epic. The crackling sound resonates deep in your chest, and when paired with Johnny’s music, they’re elevated to something almost anthem-like.

Z.B. – It’s true; it felt like an anthem, which is something I can recognise in real life as well. Those collective moments, no matter which generation you’re from or what your background, ideology, beliefs, or differences might be, allow you to feel that there are values that transcend all of that. In those unifying situations, focusing on what connects us rather than what divides us is easier. That morning, after filming all night and wrapping up 55 exhausting days, standing together with all the crew and extras to watch the final fireworks, it truly felt like that.