Ventoux (2015) unfolds like a quietly nostalgic journey, carried by the steady rhythm of four longtime friends returning to France’s Mont Ventoux. What begins as a simple reunion—an attempt to relive the joy of a biking trip from thirty years earlier—slowly transforms into something much deeper. The mountain becomes more than a backdrop; it is a keeper of memories, both warm and unsettling.
As the group pedals upward, the laughter of youth resurfaces, but so do the cracks they once ignored. Moments of banter shift into stretches of silence heavy enough to feel like the thin mountain air has turned dense. Their camaraderie holds, yet beneath it lies a shared history they’ve never fully confronted—a ghost from their past waiting at the summit.
The film balances lighthearted recollection with emotional weight. Flashbacks drift in like gusts of wind, blurring the line between who these men used to be and who they have become. Each scene captures the bittersweet truth that growing older doesn’t erase old wounds; it only teaches you to carry them differently.
