Building the New Queer Canon is a monthly column exploring a new or rediscovered LGBTQIA+ film, and whether it deserves inclusion in an ever-growing “canon” of queer cinema. VV’s Flesh and Fuel essay contains spoilers. Pierre le Gall’s 2026 movie features Alexis Manenti, Julian Swiezewski and Mohamed Makhtoumi. Check out more movie coverage in the film essays section.

You didn’t have to be on the Croisette to hear the deafening anti-buzz from Cannes this year, as most high-profile competition premieres played to underwhelmed or sharply polarized responses, with the consensus quickly emerging that the best films were to be found elsewhere. Unfortunately, this has also coincided with a year in which more queer titles were selected for the main competition than any in recent memory, with seven Queer Palm-eligible productions in that lineup, in addition to a record-breaking 21 eligible titles across the entire festival program. I’ll cover many of those shortlisted movies in future columns as they near theatrical release, but before then, I want to introduce a discovery hidden deep in the festival sidebars which still hasn’t secured distribution deals in the English-speaking world.

Pierre le Gall’s directorial debut Flesh and Fuel was the inaugural winner of the Queer Palm Revelation Prize, which from the outside may seem like a conservative choice when placed next to more politically radical or formally inventive works which better reflect the unconventional ideal of queer cinema. This is a straightforward love story between two truck drivers, the French Étienne (Alexis Manenti) and the Polish Bartosz (Julian Świeżewski), who meet-cute after narrowly evading arrest at an outdoor cruising spot. The stereotypically masculine associations of their job roles, as well as their first meet coinciding with the threat of imprisonment, initially feels like a threat; it’s not a stretch to assume the introduction could blossom into a miserabilist tale of toxic masculinity as they contend with societal expectations that keep them apart. Instinctively, my defenses were up during a first watch because of the number of festival circuit titles I’ve seen which feel exploitative in their depictions of queer suffering in what we consider heteronormative backdrops. That Lukas Dhont’s 2026 war film Coward won a dual acting prize in this year’s main competition is enough to suggest this trope will remain prevalent no matter how outdated it now seems.

Flesh and Fuel Essay: Related — Building the New Queer Canon #1: Isao Fujisawa’s ‘Bye Bye Love (Baibai Rabu)’

Le Gall was seemingly prepared for a defensive audience, as each drip feed of context about Étienne’s life subverts expectations. An initially unremarked upon photo of a woman and a child in the protagonist’s truck, for example, suggests a cliched story of a closeted man having anonymous sex to fill an emotional void. It’s eventually revealed that the people in question are Étienne’s sister and nephew, and that even though he doesn’t always talk to colleagues about his sex life, he’s not hiding any part of himself. When a younger truck driver talks to him about women and quickly cottons onto the fact that Étienne is gay, the expectation of a sudden eruption of homophobic violence is immediately brushed under the carpet when the man tells the protagonist to engage with a different driver making eyes at him. Even as someone who grew up in the working class, it’s hard to turn off the classist part of my brain that expects to see prejudice in largely masculine industries due to prior media depictions, which in turn feeds the stereotype that people from lower income backgrounds are more socially conservative. The extent to which Flesh and Fuel confronts this expectation and authentically subverts it makes it feel like a major work, even without the romance.

Flesh and Fuel Essay: Related — Building the New Queer Canon #3: Olmo Schnabel’s ‘Pet Shop Days’

There are no cultural barriers preventing a relationship forming between Étienne and Bartosz, with the most immediately apparent boundary opening between them being the sheer distance. Flesh and Fuel’s structure has been compared by some critics to that of Ang Lee’s Brokeback Mountain (2005), as le Gall picks up with the pair as they meet once again on the roadside after extensive and unspecified intervals, but there’s no despairing tragedy linked with the romance. Étienne and Bartosz have chemistry and ultimately an open affection for each other that’s no secret — it’s just rare for them not to be on opposite sides of mainland Europe, which hinders the chance of them taking the next step. Each time the men do meet up, sparks fly and sexual tensions rise. One of their earliest meetings at a service station culminates in a no-strings hookup, with Étienne and Bartosz laughing together as they navigate the claustrophobic awkwardness of having sex in the back seat of a truck. The sex scenes throughout are effective because they’re not idealized, showing how the protagonists make the best of an inefficient situation where they can only spend an hour or two together due to the demanding nature of their work schedules.

Flesh and Fuel Essay: Related — Building the New Queer Canon #5: Dag Johan Haugerud’s Sex/Dreams/Love Trilogy

This is where Flesh and Fuel is the most resonant, documenting the challenges of maintaining a relationship during a period of gig economy late capitalism, where work-life balance feels like an unattainable goal due to the challenges of making ends meet. Étienne doesn’t have that issue exactly, as he loves spending time on the road. However, as a French union member, he has both a better salary and paid holiday protections his Polish partner doesn’t, and multiple scheduled meets are postponed because Bartosz desperately needs that last-minute work. Flesh and Fuel is one of the more intelligent romantic dramas (queer or otherwise) I’ve seen in quite some time because it understands the central work dynamic as the biggest source of tension in modern relationships, one that derails partnerships between people who are otherwise perfectly suited for each other. More impressively, le Gall doesn’t use the conflict as a means of making a more didactic, on-the-nose point about the barriers which can arise in gig economy relationships; the trajectory of the couple is more keenly felt because it doesn’t feel like a case study in a greater analysis of a despairing societal trend.

Flesh and Fuel Essay: Related — Building the New Queer Canon #7: Carmen Emmi’s ‘Plainclothes’

Similarly, Flesh and Fuel also offers an unspoken commentary on the male loneliness epidemic, which le Gall also instinctively ties into the increased pressure put upon workers. Étienne does indeed spend time laughing and chatting with fellow truck drivers at pit stops, but it’s implied he can spend long periods on the road with no contact beyond employers and contractors, as he doesn’t afford himself time off to spend with partners or family members. His is an enforced case of solitude, juxtaposed with Bartosz’s need to constantly be on the road, making just enough to get by each month and unable to think about anything more serious because he needs to make ends meet. Every obstacle between them comes back to the root cause of financial insecurity, as the screenplay (by le Gall, Martin Drouot and Camille Perton) returns to the question of whether any relationship can withstand the inherent tensions caused by such as burden. The film takes a glass half full mentality, but not to the extent that it overlooks the very real tensions money can cause.

Flesh and Fuel Essay: Related — Building the New Queer Canon #9: Richard Linklater’s ‘Blue Moon’ and the 2026 Oscars

Flesh and Fuel has an inherent romanticism which transforms le Gall’s 2026 film into a tear-jerking crowd pleaser instead of a political commentary first and foremost, and it’s likely to get more attention on a long festival run than it did at the well-received but still relatively underseen Cannes Critic’s Week premiere. The movie is far better attuned to the difficulties of modern dating than any similar work I’ve seen recently, which makes it feel incredibly triumphant each time Étienne and Bartosz get a chance to meet and embrace.

Alistair Ryder (@YesitsAlistair) is a film and TV critic based in Manchester, England. By day, he interviews the great and the good of the film world for Zavvi, and by night, he criticizes their work as a regular reviewer at outlets including The Film Stage and Looper. Thank you for reading film criticism, movie reviews and film reviews at Vague Visages.

Flesh and Fuel Essay: Related — Building the New Queer Canon #10: Elliot Tuttle’s ‘Blue Film’ and Tackling Society’s Ultimate Taboo