The Great Arch Review: Crafting a Monument in Modern France

Stéphane Demoustier’s film centers on Otto von Spreckelsen, a Danish architect entrusted with La Grande Arche in Paris’s La Défense during the early 1980s. That era’s spirit of modernist ambition meets a clash of national identities as a foreign visionary navigates French bureaucratic intricacies. Demoustier grounds the story in specific cultural rituals—state assemblies, architectural competitions, presidential audiences—while allowing von Spreckelsen’s Scandinavian design ethos, with its minimalist rigor and devotion to craft, to resonate on a global stage.

Claes Bang embodies this duality, portraying an outsider whose classical training and religious devotion infuse every blueprint with both precision and personal conviction. Viewers familiar with Denmark’s functionalist tradition will recognize von Spreckelsen’s insistence on pure materials and geometric clarity. Meanwhile, the film’s Parisian sequences, staged in opulent government offices and avant-garde construction sites, underscore how regional tastes and political priorities reshape artistic vision.

Through deliberate pacing and measured camera work, Demoustier invites comparison between architectural storytelling and narrative techniques in international cinema—each transition, from model room to marble quarry, evokes parallels with cross-continental filmmaking rhythms. The juxtaposition of stark blueprints against bustling French streets highlights how creativity adapts as it crosses linguistic and institutional borders, raising open questions about the universal language of design and the compromises that accompany cultural exchange.

Crossing Blueprints and Bureaucracy

The Great Arch’s story unfolds in distinct phases: von Spreckelsen’s surprise win of the 1983 La Défense competition; President Mitterrand’s early endorsement; spiraling budget overruns and material disputes; the 1986 election that shifts power; and, finally, the Arche’s muted unveiling. Each segment charts how a Danish minimalist’s clarity collides with French procedural layers.

Idealism and pragmatism butt heads in tightly staged meetings where von Spreckelsen defends his marble choices against technocrats demanding cost cuts. These scenes echo the tension gamers feel when narrative ambition runs up against design constraints—choices must be revised, sacrifices made, but the core vision persists.

When Mitterrand’s party loses its majority, the film’s tone shifts. Officials once supportive now insist on alterations, mirroring how global markets can co-opt regional artistry. Von Spreckelsen’s unwavering “cube” metaphor—his quest for purity—clashes with political expediency, emphasizing how state priorities reshape creative projects across cultures.

Recurring symbols punctuate this journey: the church-organ sequence underscores his spiritual devotion to architecture; quarry visits evoke the tactile origins of marble and the labor beneath polished façades. Demoustier paces these beats like episodic game levels, each setback raising stakes and inviting the audience to question where passion ends and compromise begins.

Architects of Conviction

Claes Bang’s portrayal of Otto von Spreckelsen charts a striking evolution: he opens as a reserved Danish professor, sketching precise lines in a quiet atelier, then erupts in a budget-meeting tirade when his marble choice is questioned. Bang’s controlled cadence shifts to fervent intensity the moment he confronts Subilon, underscoring how an outsider’s certainty collides with France’s methodical protocols.

Sidse Babett Knudsen’s Liv balances affection and boardroom acumen. Early scenes show her quietly refining Otto’s models; later, her measured reproaches—“Your vision risks everything we’ve built”—highlight how personal stakes mirror professional ones. Their interactions resonate like dual-player mechanics in cooperative games: success demands two perspectives in sync, but missteps by either player lead to failure.

Xavier Dolan brings kinetic tension as Jean-Louis Subilon. His nervous pacing and clipped retorts embody a young technocrat torn between loyalty to the project and duty to the state. Moments of genuine empathy—a late-night office reprieve—reveal his growing respect for Otto’s ideals, even as he implements cost-saving layers.

Swann Arlaud’s Paul Andreu grounds the narrative in pragmatic expertise. His methodical plans contrast with Otto’s grand gestures: when Andreu reroutes infrastructure under Parisian streets, his calm delivery feels like mastering a complex in-game puzzle under a tight timer.

Michel Fau’s Mitterrand opens with buoyant support—an ally eager to champion artistic ambition—and disappears from key negotiations once political tides shift, illustrating how creative endeavors depend on shifting power dynamics.

Blueprints in Motion

Demoustier frames his world with stark precision: tight close-ups in dimly lit offices capture the weight of political mandates, while wide lenses over the Carrara quarries evoke the monumental scale of marble extraction. These alternating vistas mirror how regional aesthetics inform visual language—Danish restraint meets French grandeur—much like samplings of minimal UI in Nordic game design contrasted against baroque cinematic set-pieces.

Production design and VFX transport viewers to 1980s La Défense, reconstructing its concrete plazas and glass façades with period-accurate signage and muted color palettes. As the Arch rises, digital overlays trace each stage of assembly, akin to in-game progress bars that track player achievements. The shift from pristine white marble models to weathered gray stone underscores how practical constraints reshape pure concept into lived environment.

Editing stitches years of trials into cohesive beats. Montage sequences of budget meetings cross-cut with construction crews evoke level transitions in strategy titles, where narrative stakes rise with resource depletion. Politically charged debates segue into time-lapse shots of scaffolding, reinforcing how external pressures accelerate or stall creative workflows.

A fugue-inspired score punctuates key scenes, layering repeating motifs that echo bureaucratic iteration—each orchestral phrase returns with subtle variation, much like quest logs updating in response to player choices. Ambient sound design—echoing footsteps in echoic corridors or the scrape of trowels on stone—roots the viewer in both material and metaphor.

Demoustier’s direction balances dry wit and solemn ritual. A comedic aside, such as officials racing to rubber-stamp plans, exists alongside reverent scenes of Spreckelsen playing his church organ. This pattern of repetition and variance evokes architectural rhythms and mirrors narrative loops found in modern narrative-driven games.

Symbolic touchpoints abound: scattered marble chips recall textual footnotes in comparative literature, while blueprint overlays serve as visual annotations on screen. Organ pipes, seen both in churches and model rooms, become leitmotifs for faith in design. These recurring images prompt reflection on how cultural values inscribe themselves onto stone—and onto story. The Great Arch premiered on May 16, 2025, at the Cannes Film Festival in the Un Certain Regard section.

Full Credits

Director: Stéphane Demoustier

Writers: Stéphane Demoustier, Laurence Cossé

Producers: Muriel Meynard

Cast: Claes Bang, Sidse Babett Knudsen, Michel Fau, Swann Arlaud, Xavier Dolan, Alessandro Bressanello, Viilbjørk Malling Agger, Pierre-François Grunewald

Director of Photography (Cinematographer): David Chambille

Editor: Damien Maestraggi

Composer: Olivier Marguerit