Zonca films bare-knuckled with a boxer’s tension, freedom and rigor, never once trying to demonstrate. Like Pialat in “Passe ton bac d’abord”, he lets himself be guided by the trembling of bodies, the debris of illusions, the dropped beats in looks and conversations. From an environment (Northern France) much overused in French cinema, the hackneyed context (social mincemeat) that goes with it and the play of stubborn opposites (night, day, the characters), the director extracts the harsh light of trajectories that collide. He captures the unraveling of these girls and their impossible dream of tying up with others. Lets his camera run. Dares to make a bridging sequence in mid-film and then, without warning, switches from Isa’s occasionally clownish energy (love that Madonna act!) to Marie’s mutinous rancor. And ends his film with as many lives. A long, long take of women factory workers’ faces which, in the image of his two angels, turn our hearts inside out. (Sophie Grassin in “L’Express” magazine, September 10, 1998)