Gagne ton ciel de Mathieu Denis

BANDE ANNONCE

Gagne ton ciel n’est pas seulement le récit d’une chute individuelle. C’est un miroir tendu à nos sociétéscontemporaines, saturées d’images de réussite, d’injonctions à posséder davantage et d’un imaginaire collectif où la valeur d’un individu se mesure moins à ce qu’il est qu’à ce qu’il affiche. En suivant la descente aux enfers de Nacer Belkacem (Samir Guesmi),  Mathieu Denis signe un film d’une lucidité troublante, qui interroge frontalement notre rapport à l’argent, au regard des autres et à l’illusion d’une réussite toujours repoussée.

À première vue, Nacer incarne une réussite tranquille, presque banale. Une maison confortable en banlieue, une famille aimante, un emploi stable, une implication sociale réelle. Ce portrait pourrait suffire à définir une vie accomplie. Mais Gagne ton ciel commence précisément là où cette définition échoue. À l’aube de ses 50 ans, Nacer ressent un vertige : celui de n’avoir pas « assez ». Pas assez d’argent, pas assez de reconnaissance, pas assez de signes visibles attestant qu’il a vraiment réussi. Ce manque n’est pas matériel au sens strict ; il est symbolique. Il naît dans la comparaison, dans le frottement quotidien avec un monde où la richesse n’est plus seulement un moyen, mais un langage, un marqueur identitaire.

Le film montre avec une finesse implacable comment cette insatisfaction s’insinue dans les interstices du quotidien. Les parents riches de l’école privée, les conversations anodines qui deviennent autant de rappels de ce qu’il n’a pas, les refus professionnels vécus comme des humiliations existentielles. Rien n’est spectaculaire au départ. C’est précisément ce qui rend la trajectoire de Nacer si crédible : sa chute ne commence pas par un crime ou un scandale, mais par une pensée persistante, presque raisonnable en apparence — je mérite mieux. Dans un monde qui célèbre sans cesse l’ambition et la performance, cette pensée n’a rien d’anormal. Elle est même encouragée.

C’est là que Gagne ton ciel devient profondément contemporain. Nous vivons entourés de richesses inimaginables, exposés quotidiennement, par les réseaux sociaux, la publicité et les discours économiques, à des standards de vie hors de portée pour la majorité. Cette abondance visible ne rend pas plus riches ; elle rend plus pauvres symboliquement. Elle crée un décalage permanent entre ce que l’on possède et ce que l’on croit devoir posséder pour exister pleinement aux yeux des autres. Nacer n’est pas écrasé par la misère, mais par la comparaison. Il n’est pas victime d’un manque objectif, mais d’un excès de modèles inaccessibles.

Le génie du film réside dans son refus de juger frontalement son personnage. Nacer n’est ni un monstre ni une caricature. Il est un homme ordinaire pris dans un engrenage qu’il ne maîtrise plus. Son silence, notamment vis-à-vis de sa femme et de ses proches, est l’un des éléments les plus tragiques du récit. Non parce qu’il est cruel, mais parce qu’il est prisonnier de son ego. Avouer ses difficultés serait reconnaître un échec, et dans l’univers mental qu’il s’est construit, l’échec n’a pas droit de cité. Le film montre ainsi comment le culte de la réussite matérielle isole, empêche la parole et transforme les relations humaines en surfaces à préserver plutôt qu’en refuges.

La métaphore des sables mouvants, évoquée par le cinéaste, traverse tout le film. Nacer avance sans cesse, convaincu que l’immobilité équivaut à la mort sociale. Pourtant, chaque pas l’enfonce davantage. Cette fuite en avant est emblématique d’un système économique et culturel qui valorise l’action, la prise de risque et la croissance permanente, même lorsque celles-ci conduisent à l’autodestruction. Gagne ton ciel pose alors une question essentielle : que se passe-t-il lorsque la seule valeur reconnue devient l’accumulation ? Que reste-t-il de l’individu lorsque tout ce qui ne se mesure pas en chiffres est relégué au second plan ?

La dimension tragique du film, souvent comparée à celle d’une tragédie grecque, ne tient pas seulement à l’issue inéluctable du récit, mais à l’aveuglement du héros. Comme les figures antiques, Nacer est persuadé de son bon droit, convaincu que ses choix, aussi risqués soient-ils, sont nécessaires. Sa chute n’est pas provoquée par une fatalité extérieure, mais par une vision du monde qu’il a intégrée sans la remettre en question. En cela, il est moins un individu défaillant qu’un symptôme.

                          

La mise en scène de Mathieu Denis épouse cette logique avec sobriété. Le suspense ne repose pas sur des rebondissements spectaculaires, mais sur une tension morale constante. Le spectateur sait, presque dès le départ, que l’issue sera sombre. Ce qui importe, ce n’est pas le quoi, mais le comment. Comment un homme aimant peut-il en venir à sacrifier ce qu’il a de plus précieux ? Comment une quête de reconnaissance peut-elle effacer progressivement toute autre forme de valeur ?

Dans un monde contemporain où l’on nous répète qu’il faut « repartir la machine » coûte que coûte, Gagne ton ciel agit comme un contre-discours nécessaire. Il rappelle que la machine, lorsqu’elle devient une fin en soi, broie ceux qui n’arrivent pas à suivre son rythme effréné. Le film ne propose pas de solution simple, ni de morale rassurante. Il se contente — et c’est déjà immense — de poser la question qui dérange : où essayons-nous d’aller, exactement ?

En ce sens, Gagne ton ciel est un film profondément politique, même s’il ne brandit aucun slogan. Il parle de nous, de nos silences, de nos frustrations et de nos compromissions quotidiennes. Il montre que la véritable pauvreté n’est pas toujours celle que l’on croit, et que l’abondance matérielle, lorsqu’elle devient un horizon exclusif, peut se transformer en désert intérieur.

À la sortie de la projection, une impression persiste : celle d’avoir assisté non pas à une fiction éloignée de notre réalité, mais à une variation possible de nos propres trajectoires. Gagne ton ciel ne condamne pas le désir de mieux vivre ; il met en garde contre l’oubli de ce qui fait qu’une vie vaut la peine d’être vécue. Et c’est précisément dans cette tension, entre aspiration légitime et dérive destructrice, que le film trouve sa force, sa profondeur et sa brûlante pertinence.

LENA GHIO   

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BLACK HISTORY MONTH 2026 : Together, Let's Raise Our Voices

 

www.moishistoiredesnoirs.com

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Here in Montreal, Black History Month has always been more than a date on the calendar. It is a living, breathing space for memory, creation, resistance, and joy—one that grows richer each year through the voices of those who shape it. In 2026, that space opens wider than ever before. As the city gathers to mark the 35th edition of Black History Month, the celebrations take on a resonance that is both historic and forward-looking, grounded in remembrance yet boldly oriented toward the future. This year is not simply another chapter; it is a moment of collective affirmation.

schedule of activities

The 2026 edition unfolds at a remarkable crossroads. It marks the 35th anniversary of the Round Table on Black History Month, a century since Black History Month first emerged as a movement of recognition and education, and the 15th anniversary of the official logo that has come to symbolize this shared commitment. These milestones converge to remind us why Black History Month continues to matter. At a time when struggles for equity persist and narratives are increasingly fragmented, Black History Month stands as a vital force—one that insists on truth, honors complexity, and calls communities together long after February has passed.

The theme chosen for this anniversary year, Together, let’s raise our voices, captures the spirit of the moment with clarity and urgency. It is both an invitation and a declaration. To raise one’s voice is to claim space, to speak memory into the present, to transform silence into resonance. To do so together is to recognize that Black histories are not isolated stories but collective ones—woven into the social, cultural, political, and artistic fabric of Quebec. In 2026, raising our voices means amplifying plural identities, bridging generations, and shaping a future rooted in solidarity rather than erasure.

This vision is powerfully embodied in the official poster designed by artist Williamson Dulcé. In a vibrant and abstract composition, silhouettes gather around a central fire, evoking warmth, transmission, and shared humanity. The fire becomes a symbol of continuity—of stories told and retold, of resistance that illuminates rather than consumes. From this circle, voices rise and travel outward in every direction, suggesting both local grounding and global reach. The artwork pays homage to the historical and cultural richness of Black communities while encouraging reflection on their enduring impact. It is an image that does not ask for permission to be seen or heard; it insists.

Spokesperson Tamara Angeline Medford-Williams

The spokespeople for Black History Month 2026 further embody this insistence on agency, dialogue, and pride. On the Francophone side, artist, activist, and radio host Hubert-Mary Cherenfant, widely known as Dice B., brings a powerful conviction to the role. His work and voice are rooted in the belief that Afro-descendant people must be the authors of their own histories—free to affirm their multiplicity and celebrate the depth of a shared heritage without compromise. In the Anglophone community, Tamara Angeline Medford-Williams serves as a unifying presence. As a leader in community initiatives, education, and advocacy, she is deeply committed to highlighting the stories of Black, African, and Caribbean communities while fostering understanding, collective pride, and meaningful connection across differences.

Central to the Month’s programming is a renewed spotlight on individuals whose lives and work have shaped Quebec society in lasting ways. Through its annual free calendar, the Round Table honors twelve laureates whose paths reflect the diversity and brilliance of Black contributions across education, culture, public service, health, entrepreneurship, and the arts. Photographed by Montreal artist Qauffee, these portraits capture more than likeness—they reflect legacy.

Spokesperson Dice B

The 2026 laureates include educators such as Alix Adrien, journalists and filmmakers like Nadine Alcindor, and historians such as Fred Anderson, whose role in the Sir George Williams affair remains a crucial chapter in Montreal’s social history. They also include contemporary changemakers: Will Baptiste’s advocacy for mental health and healthy masculinity; Latoya Belfon’s leadership in publishing and education; Dieudonné Ella Oyono’s influence in economic development and political life; Oluwanifemi Fagbohun’s innovation in ethical entrepreneurship; and Biba Tinga’s tireless work in advancing awareness and care for people living with sickle cell disease. Artists, musicians, youth leaders, and cultural organizers—Ali NDiaye (Webster), Constantine Greenaway, Christelle Onomo Lopes, and Cynthia Waithe among them—complete a constellation of voices that reflect both depth and breadth. Together, they tell a story of commitment, courage, and creativity.

Music, movement, and visual art play a central role in this year’s celebrations, offering spaces where emotion and history meet. From late January through February, Montreal’s major cultural venues resonate with performances that bridge eras and genres. Classical concerts at Salle Pierre-Mercure and Salle Bourgie highlight composers of African descent and contemporary creators, placing them firmly within the canon while challenging its boundaries. These evenings are not only performances but acts of recognition—moments where Black excellence in classical music is heard, felt, and celebrated.

Beyond concert halls, Black History Month 2026 embraces the joy of gathering and the importance of well-being. BLK WinterFest invites participants to experience winter differently, reclaiming outdoor spaces through shared adventure and care. Community initiatives such as the annual blood drive in partnership with Héma-Québec underscore the tangible, life-saving contributions Black communities continue to make, particularly in addressing health realities like sickle cell disease.

Africa’s presence is also deeply felt throughout the Month. Exhibitions such as The Body in Ritual challenge conventional perspectives by reimagining masks not as static artifacts but as living extensions of the body. The long-awaited return of Les Ballets Africains to Montreal—nearly six decades after their last visit—stands as a historic cultural moment, reconnecting audiences with rhythms, movements, and traditions that have shaped global performance.

Importantly, Black History Month 2026 reaches far beyond Montreal. Events across Quebec—from the Côte-Nord to Mauricie, from Trois-Rivières to Rouyn-Noranda—affirm that Black history is not confined to one city or one narrative. It is a shared inheritance, present in every region and enriched by local voices.

As Black History Month 2026 begins, Montreal is invited not only to attend but to listen, reflect, and speak. Together, let’s raise our voices is a call to remember that history lives through participation. By honoring the past, celebrating the present, and imagining the future side by side, this anniversary edition reaffirms a simple yet powerful truth: when voices rise together, they shape a more just, vibrant, and united society for all.

LENA GHIO   

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🔱 THE ALCHEMY OF RESISTANCE: DISMANTLING THE MONSTER'S SHADOW ♈

"The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice." - Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

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In the shadow of a tyrant who wields the military as a personal tool of theft and terror, it is easy to succumb to the weight of fear. But history—and the stars—remind us that we are not the first to stand before a "monster."

Mahatma Gandhi was born with Neptune in Aries, the very transit the United States are about to enter. This placement represents the "Spiritual Warrior"—the fusion of Neptunian universal love with Arian courage. Gandhi, alongside Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., proved that when a population moves with "Truth-Force," even the most heavily armed tyrant becomes a prisoner of his own illusions.

Here is an analysis of the current threat through the lens of their collective wisdom.

The Alchemy of Resistance: Dismantling the Monster

By the Light of Gandhi and King

The tyrant today believes he is launching a world-shaping war. He sees himself as a master of Pluto (power) and Mars (war). But he has forgotten the fundamental law of the universe that both Gandhi and King lived by: No man can rule another without the other’s consent. Even if that consent is extracted through fear, it remains a choice. When the choice is withdrawn, the tyrant’s throne—built on stolen wealth and the blood of the innocent—begins to dissolve into the Neptunian fog.

I. The Illusion of Brute Force

Gandhi taught that "Satyagraha" (Truth-Force) is not a passive tool for the weak, but a "militant nonviolence" for the brave. To the tyrant, the military is a solid wall. To the Satyagrahi, the military is a collection of human beings, each possessing a conscience that can be awakened.

The tyrant is currently sending troops to "threaten his own people." In the philosophy of Martin Luther King Jr., this is a moment of Self-Purification. Before the people can win the streets, they must win their own hearts. They must refuse to mirror the monster’s hatred. King argued that violence only multiplies violence, but nonviolence "shocks" the conscience of the oppressor’s enforcers.

When the "shame" of the tyrant—his pedophilia—is brought into the light, it acts as a spiritual solvent. A soldier may find "glory" in a nationalist war, but there is no glory in defending a predator of children. By focusing on this specific truth, the people do not need to fight the military; they need to awaken the military to the fact that they are guarding a plague.

"In a gentle way, you can shake the world." - Mahatma Gandhi The Salt March

II. The Sovereignty of the Soil (Swaraj)

Gandhi’s concept of Swaraj (self-rule) is particularly relevant to the oncoming Neptune in Aries transit through the United States’s 4th house (the home and the land). The tyrant is obsessed with robbing the country’s wealth. Swaraj teaches that true wealth is not in the banks he is looting, but in the local community’s ability to sustain itself.

The tyrant’s cohorts are like a rodent and insect invasion, the parasites eating the nation’s foundation. Gandhi’s response would be Swadeshi: a return to the local. If the people stop using the tyrant’s banks, stop buying his taxed goods, and instead build a decentralized "shadow economy" of mutual aid, the tyrant becomes a king of nothing. He cannot "rob" a country that refuses to use his currency.

III. Navigating the Neptunian Fog

The tyrant’s plan for a "World War" is a desperate attempt to use the Mars-Pluto energy to maintain control. But Neptune in Aries (the Spiritual Warrior) is the antidote. Neptune dissolves boundaries; it turns the solid into the ethereal.

Martin Luther King Jr. often spoke of the "Unescapable Network of Mutuality." He understood that we are all tied in a single garment of destiny. The tyrant wants to isolate the people, but the Sun and Mercury entering Aquarius (the sign of the collective) today signals the birth of a "Global Network of Conscience."

While the tyrant prepares for a 20th-century war of tanks and territories, the people are entering a 21st-century war of Identity and Truth. If the tyrant launches a war, he is attacking "The Other." But if the people successfully communicate that "We are All One," his soldiers will find that they are being ordered to shoot their own mirrors. This is the "Steam" of Neptune in Aries: it is a fire that does not burn, but it makes the battlefield so thick with truth that the tyrant’s weapons find no target.

IV. The Perspective of the "Monster"

We must remember why a man becomes a "monster" who robs his own people and hides a "shame" like pedophilia. In Gandhi’s eyes, such a man is the most pitiable of all. He is a man so disconnected from his own soul that he tries to fill the void with gold and the blood of the vulnerable.

His "World War" is not a sign of strength; it is a diversion. He is trying to set the world on fire so that no one notices the rot in his own basement. King taught that "the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice." The tyrant is currently fighting against that bend. He is trying to break the arc, but he will only succeed in breaking himself against it.

V. The Path Forward: Be Like Water

The transits of January 20, 2026, show a peak of tension. The Moon square Uranus suggests a sudden, explosive realization among the public. This is the moment to move. Not with the "fire" of the tyrant—which he knows how to extinguish—but with the "water" of Neptune.

• Refuse Cooperation: Like the Salt March, find the one thing the tyrant needs (labor, taxes, or silence) and withdraw it completely.

• Expose the Shame: Sunlight is the only cure for the rot in the 4th house. The pedophilia is the "leak" in the tyrant’s plumbing. Do not hide it. Make it the only thing people see when they look at his face.

• Trust the Transit: The Neptune/Saturn conjunction in February is the "Great Reset." The tyrant’s "World Order" is a house built on sand. When the water rises, the house goes.

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Conclusion: The Victory of the Great Soul

The threats of the tyrant are loud, but they are hollow. He is a drug-addicted financial ally’s puppet and a prisoner of his own perversions. Gandhi and King did not have armies, but they had Satya (Truth).

As Neptune enters Aries, the country is being called to a "Hero’s Journey." You are not just surviving a renovation; you are gutting a corrupt temple so that a new one can be built. The "insects and rodents" are being flushed out by the rising tide of public consciousness.

The tyrant will fall not because he was defeated by a bigger army, but because he was out-lived by the truth. On January 21, as the Sun and Mercury settle into Aquarius, the "People’s Voice" will begin to resonate at a frequency that his walls cannot contain.

"First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you win." — Mahatma Gandhi

LENA GHIO   

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It’s All Coming Back to Me Now by Vito Luprano

Vito Luprano and Céline Dion as they embark on a phenomenal journey of success.

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Vito Luprano’s It’s All Coming Back to Me Now arrives not as a victory lap, but as a reckoning. Fast-paced, candid, and emotionally unsettled, the book reads like a man finally allowing himself to tell his version of a story long dominated by larger-than-life figures and corporate narratives. It is not a polished myth of success, nor a confessional steeped in self-pity. Instead, Luprano offers a restless memoir shaped by ambition, proximity to greatness, and the lingering ache of having been essential yet ultimately expendable.

The book opens far from red carpets and recording studios, beginning in Bari, Italy, where Luprano was born into modest circumstances. These early chapters establish an important emotional baseline: hunger. Not merely financial hunger, but a hunger for movement, recognition, and escape. Luprano portrays himself as a young man driven less by entitlement than by instinct, propelled forward by curiosity and an unshakable belief that life could be larger than the one he inherited. This grounding gives credibility to the whirlwind that follows. When fame and power arrive, they do so in sharp contrast to the restraint of his beginnings.

At the center of the book is Luprano’s account of Céline Dion’s transformation from a visibly awkward, raw-talented teenager into a poised international superstar. These chapters are among the most compelling, not because they recycle well-known milestones, but because they focus on process rather than mythology. Luprano emphasizes evolution over destiny. Image, repertoire, presentation, confidence—nothing, he suggests, was inevitable. Choices were debated, risks were taken, and identities were shaped deliberately. His pride is evident, but it is not triumphalist; it is tinged with a quiet frustration that these contributions were later minimized or reassigned.

This frustration crystallizes in his depiction of René Angélil. Luprano does not deny Angélil’s brilliance or devotion to Dion, nor does he attempt to dismantle his legacy. Instead, he frames their relationship as one defined by tension, rivalry, and imbalance. The “push and pull” between them is presented as both creative and corrosive. Luprano believes Angélil unfairly claimed credit for decisions and transformations that were, at minimum, collaborative. What emerges is not a villainous caricature but a portrait of two powerful personalities operating in overlapping territory, where acknowledgment was currency and silence was strategy.

A good example of Céline Dion and René Angelil before the style redefinitions brought about by Vito Luprano who signed the duo to CBS records where he was an artistic director.

One of the book’s strengths is its refusal to simplify emotional outcomes. Luprano’s sense of betrayal is palpable, but it coexists with admiration, gratitude, and even lingering affection. His ultimate gratitude toward Céline Dion—expressed subtly but persistently—anchors the narrative. The decision to title each chapter after a song reinforces this emotional architecture. It is a structural homage, but also a reminder that music, more than people or institutions, is the constant thread through his life.

Luprano’s personal life is addressed with surprising bluntness. His three failed marriages are not explored for scandal, but as evidence of imbalance. Success, he suggests, did not ruin his relationships so much as distract him from tending them. These passages are spare and unsentimental, conveying regret without theatrics. The emotional throughline is absence: being physically present but psychologically elsewhere, always oriented toward the next project, the next crisis, the next negotiation.

The most jarring moment in the book comes with Luprano’s firing from Sony in 2009. He recounts this episode with genuine astonishment, portraying it as a rupture that shattered his sense of professional identity. The corporate logic behind the decision remains opaque, and perhaps that is the point. In an industry where loyalty is often rhetorical, Luprano confronts the reality that past success offers no immunity. His subsequent depression and feelings of betrayal are described plainly, without melodrama, lending these chapters an uncomfortable authenticity.

As I read the book it seemed clear to me that the tensions, the dynamics, the extraordinary talents of all three creators: René Angelil, Vito Luprano and especially Céline Dion, were all essential parts of the immeasurable success they brought to the world.

From 2012 onward, Luprano positions himself as an independent figure with Lupo One Productions, fully aware that his most influential years are behind him. This acknowledgment is one of the book’s most mature elements. Rather than chasing relevance, he reflects on legacy—what remains when proximity to power fades. There is melancholy here, but also clarity. Luprano no longer measures worth by charts or titles; instead, he measures it by memory, impact, and endurance.

One of the book’s quieter pleasures is its gallery of artists from music and cinema, many of whom have since passed away. These appearances are brief but evocative, functioning like snapshots rather than full biographies. They reinforce the book’s central theme: impermanence. Fame, relationships, institutions—all dissolve over time, leaving behind fragments that must be actively remembered if they are to survive.

Stylistically, It’s All Coming Back to Me Now favors momentum over depth. Chapters move quickly, sometimes at the expense of introspection. Readers seeking extensive psychological analysis or industry exposé may find themselves wanting more. Yet this speed feels intentional. The book mirrors the pace of the life it describes—always moving forward, rarely pausing long enough to heal. Beneath the brisk surface, however, there is a clear sense of deep emotional wounding, never fully articulated but consistently felt.

In the end, this memoir is less about settling scores than about reclaiming voice. Luprano does not ask for absolution, nor does he demand recognition. He simply insists on being part of the story as it is remembered. His final gesture of gratitude toward Céline Dion underscores this humility. Whatever conflicts existed, the music—and the journey it enabled—remains sacred.

It’s All Coming Back to Me Now is a compelling, imperfect, and honest account of a life lived adjacent to greatness. It reminds readers that history is rarely owned by a single narrator, and that behind every polished legend are contributors whose stories are still waiting to be told.

The book will be available on January 12, 2026 on Amazon.

All the images in this article are from archives found through Google searches.

LENA GHIO   

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