Viewers who have endured abusive domestic family situations may find their throats swelling, their hearts thudding, and their hands shaking.

Custody, directed by Xavier Legrand. Screening at the Kendall Square Cinema.

Thomas Gioria as Julien in scene from “Custody.”

By Peg Aloi

In this polished debut, filmmaker Xavier Legrand has crafted a suspenseful and hard-hitting story of a family trying to break free from a brutal patriarch. Custody opens quietly, with a custody hearing taking place in an office, with two lawyers and their clients appearing before a judge. Everyone is seated and the close quarters take on an air of tension as the scene proceeds. It may seem an artistic risk to open a film with a long, understated scene of talking heads, but it’s an apt beginning given that the focus is on family members who are trying very hard to hide their inner turmoil.

Miriam and Antoine Besson (Léa Drucker and Denis Ménochet, in riveting performances) are meeting to discuss visitation and custody matters regarding their two children, eighteen-year-old Josephine and eleven-year-old Julien. During the hearing, Miriam sits silently, a mask of calm resignation on her face. Antoine is also fairly sedate, but Miriam’s obvious discomfort when he speaks hints that his reserved behavior is a sham, hiding a brutal, violent nature. She appears distressed when Antoine appears to have made a positive impression on the judge — despite her allegations of physical abuse.

Because Miriam did not press charges and has no concrete evidence that her husband injured her, the court is unable to prevent Antoine from seeing his children. Because Josephine is legally an adult, she cannot be forced to visit her father. But Julien becomes a pawn Antoine intends to use to continue to terrorize his wife. The judge reads a statement by Julien — he has no interest in seeing his father. But Antoine’s lawyer suggests Miriam wrote it, and is trying to manipulate the proceedings. Antoine is granted the right to keep Julien overnight one day a week. This first scene, devoid of action though it may be, establishes the fraught situation, particularly the high stakes facing Miriam and her children.

In Loveless, a brilliant Russian film that debuted earlier this year, a couple’s marital strife magnifies the trauma that their impending divorce will have on a child, turning an adolescent’s existence upside down. Both parents fight endlessly, engaging in self-indulgent behavior that leaves their child feeling rejected and guilty. In Custody, it becomes clear that Miriam’s refusal to engage with Antoine is not selfish or even spiteful, but is purely driven by the need for self-preservation as well as her concern for Julien. Josephine (Mathilde Auneveux) is acting out by skipping school to be with her boyfriend; planning for her senior year party becomes  a way for Antoine to snoop into Miriam’s life and continue to generate fear. Julien asks his father’s permission to alter their visitation schedule so he can attend the party. Antoine turns this request into a gambit wherein he can blame Miriam for a lack of communication.

The film’s moods and energy are fairly low key, making the explosive turn of events near the end both surprising as well as shocking. In a stunning scene, Julien (Thomas Gioria, an inexperienced but very gifted young actor) endures his father’s bullying. He manages to get Julien to reveal the location of the family’s new apartment, to get a hold of his keys, and to contact Miriam via the boy’s phone. Julien runs away from Antoine and scampers through the sprawling grounds of a housing project. Yet he ends up allowing Antoine to apologize and to drive him to his sister’s party. The conflicted emotions on Julien’s face are indelibly articulate. He dares to defy his father’s brutishness — knowing that he may suffer for it.

The party stands as the film’s odd centerpiece: the camera roves through the crowd, the colored lights, music, platters of food and dancing people. We are given a dreamy aura of pleasure. Filmmaker Olivier Assayas includes a 30 minute long party scene in his early masterpiece Cold Water (appearing in a new restoration soon at the Brattle Theatre — watch this space!); in fact, every one of his films includes a party scene. It’s difficult to create an interesting and plausible party scene, they always stand out to me as markers of cinematic artistry. The party scene in Custody begins to feel overlong, especially when Josephine and her boyfriend’s band perform a spirited yet somehow tedious version of “Proud Mary.”

But strange awkwardness turns to foreboding once Antoine arrives. He clearly means to make trouble. The party mirrors Miriam and her children’s numerous attempts for months to establish a “normal” life — though they are in the sights of a stalker. Forced glee cannot shelter them from inevitable danger. Miriam manages the situation at first, missing most of Josephine’s singing debut. Antoine becomes rough with Miriam in the parking lot; her sister intervenes and threatens to call the cops. She urges Miriam to file a police complaint but, having been through this situation before, she doesn’t trust the system. Josephine and her boyfriend clean up after the party. The space becomes eerily empty; we see the pair drop of a set of keys just before extinguishing the lights, an echo of Antoine’s earlier attempts to get his hands on Julien’s keys.

To say the film ratchets upwards in intensity from here would be an understatement. Viewers who have endured abusive domestic family situations may find their throats swelling, their hearts thudding, and their hands shaking. I say this not to create expectations or to suggest appropriate audience responses, nor to offer a content warning. I say it because my own lived experiences were so artfully conjured in the film’s final scenes, in tone and emotion, if not in actual events, that it was almost like reliving them. The film ends on a note of such quiet focus, simplicity, and power that I imagine the sound of a candy wrapper dropping to the floor would have the impact of a gunshot. Legrand’s debut is not easy to watch; but the powerful performances, suspenseful story, and exquisitely calibrated direction make it a must-see.

Peg Aloi is a former film critic for The Boston Phoenix. She taught film and TV studies for ten years at Emerson College. Her reviews also appear regularly online for The Orlando Weekly, Crooked Marquee, and Diabolique. Her long-running media blog “The Witching Hour” can be found at at themediawitch.com.