Ride Away

Across the 4,000 kilometers of asphalt and gravel that stretch between the salt-sprayed Atlantic coast and the murky depths of the Black Sea, there are roughly a million opportunities for a bicycle chain to snap. For Mathias and Philippe, however, the mechanical failures are the easy part. It’s the emotional gear-shifting that proves treacherous. I watched this film on my laptop while waiting for a sourdough starter to bubble in my kitchen, and there is something about the slow, fermenting pace of a cross-continental bike ride that makes you appreciate the time it takes for things—and people—to actually change.

Ride Away (or Sur la branche in some territories) is a 2025 French gem that manages to do something quite rare in the "grief-com" subgenre: it stays upright without using training wheels. The premise is heavy—a father retracing the final journey of his deceased son—but the execution is as light as a carbon-fiber frame.

The Chemistry of Spandex and Sorrow

The heartbeat of the film is the odd-couple dynamic between Mathias Mlekuz (who also directs) and Philippe Rebbot. If you’ve followed French indie cinema over the last decade, you know Rebbot is the reigning king of the "lovable, disheveled mess." Here, he plays Philippe with a chaotic energy that serves as the perfect foil to Mathias’s quiet, rigid mourning.

I’ve always felt that the best dramas are actually comedies that just forgot to tell the audience when to laugh. Mathias Mlekuz understands this implicitly. He doesn't play Mathias as a saintly figure of tragedy; he plays him as a man who is tired, occasionally petty, and deeply confused about why he’s pedaling through Eastern Europe. When the two men argue over navigation or the sheer absurdity of their physical exhaustion, it feels earned. It’s essentially 'The Bucket List' if the characters actually liked each other and didn't have a studio-mandated budget for CGI sunsets.

The addition of Josef Mlekuz as Jo—appearing in what I interpreted as fragmented memories or perhaps the spiritual "ghost" of the journey—adds a layer of meta-textual weight. Knowing the director and the actor playing the son share a last name in real life creates a blurring of lines that made me lean in. It’s a brave choice that could have felt narcissistic in the hands of a lesser filmmaker, but here it feels like a private act of love shared with the audience.

A Modern Odyssey Without the Monsters

In the current era of cinema, where every second film feels like a "content play" designed to launch a multi-platform franchise, Ride Away feels refreshingly small. It’s a film that belongs to the "slow travel" movement of the 2020s, a reaction to the frantic, hyper-connected world we navigated post-pandemic. There are no villains here, unless you count the steep inclines of the Carpathians or the existential dread of reaching the destination and realizing the person you’re looking for isn't there.

The cinematography by Florent Sabatier captures the transition of Europe with a naturalist’s eye. We see the shift from the manicured hedges of Western Europe to the more rugged, untamed landscapes of the East. It reminded me of how much we lose when we fly over these spaces. The film celebrates the "middle bits" of life—the roadside diners, the awkward encounters with locals like Laurent Jouault (who plays "The Norman of the Carpathians" with a surreal, folklore-ish charm), and the quiet moments of sitting in a tent while it rains.

The inclusion of Marziyeh Rezaei is a fascinating touch. Most will recognize her from Jafar Panahi’s 3 Faces, and her presence here brings a globalized, almost nomadic feel to the story. It suggests that grief and the desire for movement aren't just French concerns, but universal ones.

The Beauty of the 88-Minute Sprint

One of my biggest gripes with contemporary dramas is "runtime bloat"—that feeling that a director thinks their movie is more important because it’s 140 minutes long. Mathias Mlekuz directs with the kind of restraint that makes you realize most Hollywood directors are just toddlers with expensive lasers. At 88 minutes, Ride Away is lean. It knows exactly when to stop. It doesn't overstay its welcome or try to provide a "Grand Unified Theory of Healing." It just shows you two guys on bikes who are slightly less miserable at the end than they were at the beginning.

There are moments where the film leans a bit too heavily into the "whimsical Frenchman" trope, and if you have a low tolerance for middle-aged men finding themselves through physical exertion, your mileage may vary. But for me, the sincerity won out. It’s a film about the "ordeals" mentioned in the plot summary, but it treats those ordeals with a shrug and a glass of wine rather than a scream and a breakdown.

Ultimately, Ride Away is a testament to the idea that you don't need a massive budget or a de-aged lead actor to tell a story that resonates in 2025. It’s a quiet, observant film that rewards your attention without demanding your tears. It’s the kind of movie I’ll likely recommend to my friends who say they’re tired of superheroes but don't want to watch something that will leave them depressed for a week. It's a steady ride, a bit bumpy in places, but the view at the end is well worth the effort.

It's a reminder that while you can't outrun—or out-pedal—grief, you can certainly bring a friend along for the ride. Just make sure it's someone who doesn't mind the smell of old spandex and the occasional wrong turn in the Carpathians.