In Fabric | Marriage Story | Portrait of a Lady on Fire | The Two Popes
In Fabric
Directed by Peter Strickland
There’s a scene in Peter Strickland’s fourth film, In Fabric, where a ghoulish old man watches lustfully as the witch-like employees of his department store fondle a mannequin. As they become increasingly handsy, his seductive stare increases and we begin to see his arms vibrate beneath the frame, as if to suggest he’s masturbating. It’s a bawdy suggestion, to be sure, but the camera stays focused on his face. Then we see a high-contrast, slow-motion shot where pearly white ropes of semen blast through the air.
Those expecting the winking eroticism of Strickland’s last feature The Duke of Burgundy will instead be greeted with maximalist camp, but the whole project is better off for it. In Fabric is a cheeky, playful and entirely absurd project that offers a stunning amount of depth for all of its bright, primary-coloured camp and handmade collage aesthetics. The film is ravelled around the tale of a haunted red dress from a vampiric department store. Eager to re-enter the dating scene after her son brings home an older woman (a bawdy Gwendoline Christie), Sheila (Marianne Jean-Baptiste) visits the well-advertised and adored shopping destination Dentley & Soper’s. There, she’s greeted by the aforementioned shop witches, who seduce her into purchasing a sinister red dress. From there, her life devolves into comedic chaos thanks to the dress’s unstoppable curse.
Expertly stylized and brimming with clever dialogue, In Fabric is a retro-inspired British comedy along the lines of The Mighty Boosh, Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace or Look Around You. Dig deeper and you’ll find an indictment of capitalism, a sobering look at consumerism and quite a few thoughtful things to say about the nature of fetishes. Even when he’s building comedic romps around slow-motion cum shots, Peter Strickland is one hell of an artist. (BFI) JOSIAH HUGHES
Marriage Story
Directed by Noah Baumbach
Marriage Story isn’t a marriage story — it’s a divorce story, and it poignantly reveals the ways that two people who used to love one other can end up at each other’s throats. Charlie (Adam Driver) and Nicole (Scarlett Johansson) are a power couple within New York’s theatre scene, but they’ve decided to bring their relationship to a seemingly amicable end. Both of them are likeable, if a bit flawed; Charlie is a patient, friendly director who tends to put his own needs above others, while Nicole is a talented actor who becomes embittered as she realizes she has ended up in her husband’s shadow. They don’t own much, so they see a mediator to help work out the custody arrangement for their eight-year-old son Henry (Azhy Robertson).
What begins as a dispute over whether to keep Henry in New York or move to Los Angeles quickly escalates once lawyers get involved; Nora (Laura Dern) and Jay (Ray Liotta) are cutthroat and charismatic, while Bert (Alan Alda), a third lawyer, is a mild-mannered pushover. The couple’s squabbles are alternately heartbreaking and hilarious, as one dispute spirals into another and eventually turns into an all-out war. Baumbach imbues his script with a dry wit and compassionate warmth; no matter how ugly the squabbles get, nobody comes across as the bad guy, and Marriage Story never loses its sense of humour.
It’s an arduous journey that’s sometimes difficult to watch, but it provides genuine catharsis. Audiences will walk away with a couple of lessons. The first: when you’re breaking up, try to remember the good things about your ex that brought the two of you together in the first place. The second: fuck divorce attorneys. (Netflix) ALEX HUDSON
Portrait of a Lady on Fire
Directed by Céline Sciamma
Life’s sweetest moments are impermanent, and Portrait of a Lady on Fire is a heartbreaking account of a queer love affair with a fast-approaching time limit. Marianne (Noémie Merlant) is a portrait artist in 18th century France, and she’s hired to travel to the coastal region of Brittany to paint Héloïse (Adèle Haenel), a recluse who recently left her convent and is being forced into a marriage with a stranger in Milan. Despite the insistence of Héloïse’s noblewoman mother ( Valeria Golino), the strong-willed bride-to-be won’t allow her portrait to be painted, so Marianne poses as a walking companion and does her art in secret. There’s fairly minimal dialogue and no score; the gorgeous soundscape comes from the crackling fire and pounding waves.
There’s an untamed violence to Brittany’s rugged coastline — one that reflects Héloïse’s anger over being married against her will, as well as the recent tragic loss of her sister. There are long, lingering looks as Marianne studies Héloïse’s face, and patiently paced character development as the two women slowly open up to one another. The intensity escalates after Héloïse learns what Marianne is up to, and their budding friendship blossoms into a secret romance. Héloïse will soon be whisked away to Milan, so the women savour every moment they can with an intensity that’s as joyful as it is heartbreaking.
Céline Sciamma’s direction is riveting, as she expertly choreographs luxuriously long scenes with minimal cuts. The subtlety of the romance is contrasted by some poetic, in-your-face metaphors — like when Marianne paints a self-portrait using a mirror placed over Héloïse’s crotch, or when a discarded portrait is set on fire and quite literally burns at the heart. Portrait of a Lady on Fire is a testament to the power of love — and a reminder of the cruelty of social conventions that tear queer partners apart. (MK2) ALEX HUDSON
The Two Popes
Directed by Fernando Meirelles
The draw of The Two Popes is folded neatly into its premise. The resignation of the overtly conservative, tradition-upholding Pope Benedict XVI, and his unanimous succession by the current Pope Francis, whose reign has been marked by a relative permissibility and progressiveness, was bound to inspire enthralling dialogues between the two. This is the heart of Fernando Meirelles’s drama (and by extension Anthony McCarten’s script and source play), which shines brilliantly when its titular popes come tête-à-tête with adversarial pleasantries, carrying with them their internal conflicts and doubts over the fundamental change of power and structure they are about to enact.
As played out between stars Anthony Hopkins and Jonathan Pryce, their barbed, layered exchanges give life to Meirelles’s often distracted and rambling film, which fails to recognize the good thing it has in front of it. Meirelles is perhaps best known for his co-directing of City of God with Kátia Lund, and if not, The Two Popes’ frenetic camera and unbridled editing would likely inspire even more pointed confusion. Translating a similar visual language used to represent the chaotic existence of Rio de Janeiro into a dispute over the democratic dimension of the papacy could work, but Meirelles struggles to find how.
Yet when you have two brilliant actors endowing such nuance into these people and their internal conflicts — one wishing to leave the Cardinalship from a lack of institutional reform and a personal sense of failure over his past, and the other wishing to resign due to his advanced age and questionable judgements with his authority — one wonders if the approach was necessary. Rolled into their dialogue is such pronounced humanness, their doubts, reservations, and humour all delivered expertly by Hopkins and Pryce, that you sometimes wish The Two Popes more resembled My Dinner With Andre than Meirelles’s other filmography. (Netflix)