Atypical teenagers Annabel (Mia Wasikowska) and Enoch (Henry Hopper) are the focal characters of the film; they’re portrayed with the same self-conscious hipster quirkiness that is extremely popular in films dealing with young people recently. These teenagers don’t seem to watch TV, listen to music or surf the internet, instead their primary interests apparently lie in games of battleships and studies of Charles Darwin. While many teenage films seem intent on cramming as many pop culture references into the film as possible, Restless tends to avoid this. The soundtrack, which consists of artists such as Bon Iver and Sufjan Stevens, does however add to the film’s ’indie credibility’, as well as reflecting the calm stoicism demonstrated by Annabel’s character.

The main subject of the film is death. We learn early on that Annabel suffers from terminal cancer, and Enoch has clearly been deeply effected by the death of his parents. The pair meet at a memorial service (with obvious influence taken from the 1971 film, Harold and Maude), and it is made clear that Enoch attends the funerals of strangers as some form of compensation for missing the funeral of his parents. As if Enoch wasn’t emotionally crippled enough, he is also given an imaginary friend in the form of a Japanese kamikaze pilot. However, while Enoch is portrayed as somebody unable to appropriately deal with death, Annabel’s attitude to her own impending fate is so accepting it’s unbelievable. She displays barely any negative emotions whatsoever, and is portrayed as a perfect, angelic human being. It could be argued that this also portrays the idea of first loves, where everything often does seem so perfect, with the inevitably tragic ending of the film reminding us that these amazing early relationships rarely last. The film predominantly deals with coping methods and attitudes to death, with imagination being shown equally as a way of dealing with, and a way of avoiding, reality.

Performances and characterisation in the film fall a little flat. Wasikowska works well despite the threadbare nature of her character. There is barely any discussion of the realities of cancer, it appears more as an occasional inconvenience than an actual illness that affects her in her day-to-day existence. Van Sant has almost managed to romanticise the illness; her appearance is pale but exudes radiance rather than an aura of sickness, and her short haircut looks cute and pixie-like rather than serving as a reminder of her cancer treatment. Hopper’s character is given a few witty lines but generally appears quite two-dimensional.

Despite this, the film is still relatively moving. Annabel is built up to be such a lovely character that it is impossible not to feel sad when the inevitable happens. Van Sant manages to incorporate a slightly ambiguous – yet hopeful –  note to the ending: we assume that the act of going to Annabel’s memorial service will be a cathartic experience for Enoch, and that he will hopefully move on from this. One of the key messages of the film is that life is short, and to enjoy it while it lasts. It seems that overall, Gus Van Sant is trying to take the realities of a negative situation and turn them into something positive. An admirable effort, but unfortunately the film doesn’t quite achieve this. Restless is a nice film to watch, but the two-dimensional characters and use of clichés result in it failing to have quite the intended emotional impact.

The film features an all-star cast made up of Jodie Foster, John C. Reilly, Christoph Waltz and Kate Winslet, and it is this cast that forms the main audience appeal for the film. It is a shame then, that the performances given are probably not their best. Theatre productions often rely on somewhat exaggerated performances to sustain the interest even of audience members sitting right at the back, and these same theatrical performances that we might expect from the stage performance are seen here too. While the story starts off with its roots in realism, by the end of the film everything has deteriorated into sheer chaos. The difficulties present when setting a feature-length film all in one location, in real-time, with only four characters, is that the story really needs to develop and build itself to some kind of climax. The solution to this problem in Carnage was seemingly to get all the characters drunk, in order to provide an excuse for their increasingly outlandish behaviour. The situation just isn’t realistic; although this doesn’t mean that it stops being funny. Carnage manages to raise plenty of laughs throughout.

But this isn’t simply a light-hearted watch. The film has an extremely claustrophobic feel, as a result of it being set exclusively within the apartment of one of the couples. The audience is given no relief from the situation or the characters – all of whom are portrayed as ridiculously annoying, there is no single figure for viewer identification here – as Polanski chooses to never cut away from the scene, apart from in the two dialogue-free scenes which mark the beginning and end of the film. The film is also extremely repetitive; the audience comes to know what to expect, which creates a further source of humour when expectations are continually met. Any attempts to leave the apartment are always somehow thwarted, and the constant ringing of Alan’s (Waltz) telephone come to be expected. This use of repetition adds to the uncomfortable atmosphere of the film.

Some critics argue that the film might be a comment on Polanski’s personal situation. The characters are seen bickering over an event that turns out to be completely unimportant. The fact that the children themselves have already resolved their conflict by the final scene of the film demonstrates the occasional immaturity of adults in contrast to children.  It is suggested that this might be how Polanski sees his own crime – as something that isn’t important enough to be a focus of so much fuss and attention. We see that, despite their differences, the two couples do share similarities that they just fail to see. Nancy (Winslet) and Penelope (Foster) are seen bonding over their shared annoyance at Alan’s never-ending phone calls, and the two men are seen bonding over their general lack of interest in the situation. It could be said that there’s some slight gender stereotyping at work here, though. The women are neurotic, obsessive, eager to discuss everything (and can’t handle alcohol), whereas the men are far more relaxed (and seem to think that dealing with family matters is their wife’s prerogative).

Overall, it’s not Polanski’s best, but worth seeing if only for an amazing vomiting scene, (also look out for Polanski’s wordless Hitchcock-style cameo in the film. Did you spot him?). The film started off with a lot of potential, but sadly deteriorated into what can only be described as… complete and utter carnage.

After introducing us to the protagonist Brandon (Fassbender), his routine is disturbed when his sister Sissy (Carey Mulligan) invites herself to stay with him. The structure of the film is unconventional in that there is no ‘beginning – middle – end’ story as such; the film appears as if a snapshot into the characters’ everyday lives, with the implication being that things will carry on in much the same way beyond the end of the film. A scene early on in the subway is mirrored at the end, and although events finish on a note of ambiguity it seems as though McQueen is suggesting that there is no easy solution to be found here, that not all stories can finish with a happy ending.

The relationship between Sissy and Brandon is just uncomfortable enough to get the viewer wondering. No back-story is provided for these characters, we’re unable to attribute a reasonable psychological explanation to why they might have turned out the way they are. A number of awkward scenes between the brother and sister imply that there might be an element of repressed desire or a troubled past between the two. We first see Sissy in a scene where Brandon walks in on her taking a shower in his apartment. Rather than Brandon leaving the room immediately or Sissy covering herself up, the two are shown talking for what is in cinematic-terms, quite a long time. McQueen uses an extremely long, slow-paced take  in conjunction with this to heighten the uncomfortable atmosphere and to draw more attention to the inappropriateness of the situation. This technique is repeated in other scenes between the two characters throughout the film, creating an overall impression of strange tension between the two. The ways that the brother and sister deal with their relationship with each other mirrors the way that each deal with relationships in general. Her constant phone messages and reluctance to leave him alone mirror the way that she is portrayed as being ‘clingy’ within her romantic relationships too, whereas Brandon’s distance and inability to commit to a member of the opposite sex is mirrored in the way that he can barely even look at his sister and is continually pushing her to leave. These elements cause us to wonder if the two characters have the problems that they have because of this unknown something that seems to be between them.

Although focusing largely on Brandon’s sex addiction, neither his sister nor his boss seem able to carry on ‘normal’, positive relationships either. Sissy is seen as so desperate for love and attention that she continually falls for the wrong men. Brandon’s boss is depicted continually searching for women in nightclubs despite being married with a family. So we see that Brandon is not the only person who has issues connecting with others, and perhaps this leads to a wider suggestion about people in general and how our desires to connect with others are often twisted and as a result of the wrong reasons. The boss also serves as a figure of contrast against Brandon. Although Brandon is depicted having more ‘success’ with women, he doesn’t seem to find it as easy to communicate with them – while his boss will go up and engage in conversation we see Brandon standing awkwardly, more-or-less in silence. The implication of this is that he is unable to connect with the opposite sex on any meaningful level beyond that of sex. This is also seen when Brandon begins dating a woman from work; the only time in the film that he is seen seemingly forging a meaningful connection with somebody, he is unable to perform sexually with her.

Fassbender’s understated performance works excellently with the slow-pacing of the film, but some viewers may find the minimalism of the film makes it tedious to watch. Not everything is handed to you on a plate here, you have to think for yourself and form your own conclusions about the characters. Personally, I found Mulligan’s performance a little jarring against the tone of the rest of the film since she was portrayed as such an over-the-top personality, but Fassbender and McQueen certainly make a good team and I look forward to seeing the next collaboration between the two.

Filmed on colour stock and converted into monochrome in post-production, the clarity of the images are as good as any contemporary film, with the black-and-white cinematography helping to recreate the glamour and romance associated with old Hollywood. Use of archaic screen transitions (such as the iris wipe, a common feature at the end of cartoons like the Looney Tunes), occasional intertitles and an old-fashioned, box-y aspect ratio also contribute to the period feel of the piece. While some viewers may find it difficult to sit through a film without speech, the plot is relatively simplistic and the performances are exaggerated just enough to aid the viewers’ understanding of events. A brilliant score accompanies the film and helps to prevent the mood from lagging, yet in some places it is the complete absence of sound that proves to be the most effective. The film’s introduction places us in the environment of a late-1920s cinema, with a silent film playing accompanied by live musicians. This film-within-the-film then ends, but rather than going straight into the next section of the soundtrack, director Hazanavicius chooses to provide us with a complete absence of sound accompanying shots of the crowd breaking into rapturous applause. This technique is used again at the film’s climax and is greatly effective in defying the audience’s expectations. Music is typically used in film-making during moments of heightened emotion or tension in order to signal to the audience how they ought to be feeling at that moment. Removing sound altogether implies that the emotion of the scene is powerful enough to be capable of standing alone.

Similarly to fellow best picture nominee Midnight in Paris, The Artist features a protagonist who seems unable to move on from the past into the present. The film also plays on the feelings of sentimentality and nostalgia that many of us feel for a bygone age. While the silent era is romanticized, the film also plays tribute to many other past eras of cinema, referencing works that in the context of the film’s early-1930s setting haven’t even been made yet. One scene towards the end of the film borrows music from Bernard Herrmann’s soundtrack to Vertigo (a decision greatly condemned by one of the film’s stars, Kim Novak) to accompany a shot depicting George looking into a shop window. This references a similar moment in Vertigo where Scotty, equally unable to let go of the past, is seen gazing into the window of a florist’s shop. While The Artist seems in many ways like an ode to great cinema of the past, these references are subtle enough and the film light-hearted enough to still appeal to viewers who don’t share Hazanavicius’ great passion and knowledge of film.

In many ways the film’s greatest appeal is in managing to recreate the silent era in a sufficiently sentimental way to keep the nostalgic among us satisfied. While this film has been hugely successful, I have to wonder whether silent cinema would remain as popular if contemporary directors left, right and centre started using this technique once again. We tend to romanticize the past, deeming the present to be unsatisfactory in comparison to ‘the good old days’. If silent film-making was to become a commonplace technique once more we would probably just find ourselves in a constant state of nostalgia for the ‘good old days’ of meaningless action films about giant robots that can turn into cars. In reality, no period of cinema has been without its fair share of bad films, but we tend to forget about this when looking back through a pair of rose-tinted glasses at it all.

The Artist‘s sentimentality comes close to being cheesy, but manages to remain more of an homage to the genre than a crude pastiche. If you have the patience to sit through a film without dialogue (and I feel very sorry for anybody who lacks the attention span to do that), this film is very rewarding. You can’t help but leave the cinema with a huge smile on your face.

While there are a few instances throughout the film that appear a little biased in favour of Thatcher – significant attention is given to her struggle as a woman to be taken seriously as a politician, as well as an emphasis on joy and celebration at the end of the Falklands war – the general impression gained of Thatcher seems to be negative. She is portrayed as stubborn and power-hungry, refusing to take anybody else’s opinion into account, and this is clearly shown to be the cause of much of what went wrong during her term in office. One scene depicting a neurotic Thatcher highlighting the grammar mistakes on a cabinet meeting’s agenda much to the amusement of her fellow M.Ps strongly emphasises this negative tone. Even the very first scene of the film which shows an elderly Thatcher reaching for a pint of milk in a shop could be seen as a subtle mockery of her famous “milk snatcher” nickname. Generally speaking, the film does not offer much in the way of discussion on Thatcher’s political affairs. We see sporadic footage from the riots but are not offered any significant insight into the events that went on under her government. It much be noted that this film has evidently been made first and foremost as a piece of entertainment, as a money-making venture. It does not seem that the director particularly aimed to educate or inform audiences with this picture. However, the viewer may be able to draw their own parallels between the politics of Thatcher’s Britain and events happening in Britain today, with the images of the riots becoming particularly relevant in the past few months.

Meryl Streep excels in her portrayal of Thatcher as a dementia sufferer, but I found her a little too polished to be believable in the flashback scenes. Several writers have critiqued the fact that Thatcher is shown in the full throes of dementia, with little dignity offered or sensitivity to the fact that the woman is still alive and going through this right now. Whereas if this film were a fictional account of an elderly woman with dementia I would be full of praise for its accurate rendition of the illness, I can’t help but feel uncomfortable about the fact that both of Thatcher’s children have shunned the film. It seems that some people are so busy talking about how much they disagree with Thatcher’s prime ministerial decisions that they have forgotten that she is still a human being with a family. This is not to say that due to her poor condition we cannot partake in a critical discourse of her time in power, but simply that to openly pry into such a sensitive area of Thatcher’s private life is unjustified. A simple political biopic showing Thatcher’s rise through the ranks and charting her time as prime minister should have been sufficient enough to make any kind of political comment that the director aimed to create with this film.

Overall the film feels quite messy, continually cutting between two completely different moods. Events are often skimmed over too quickly and editing in some places seemed to cut from one thing to another with little continuity. Perhaps the directors intention here was to mimic the befuddled state of Thatcher’s mind, but this wasn’t clear enough in the film and just came across as shoddy film-making. Alternating between an emotional drama and a political biopic in the space of one film has basically resulted in neither aspect of the film being utilised to its full potential. If you are open-minded enough to go and see it, this film will probably exceed your expectations. But only just.

I plan further articles discussing relatonships between art and film in the future, so please do bookmark the site if you’re interested, and of course there will be plenty of specifically art-based articles and exhibition reviews written by the owner of the site on there too for those of you who have an interest in that kind of thing.

David Fincher’s recently released film adaptation of Swedish crime novel The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson has caused some debate amongst cinema-goers due to its graphic representation of sexual abuse against women. Some viewers are disgusted by this, claiming that the act of rape in the film is gratuitous and over-sensationalised simply to shock/excite the audience. Other viewers argue that the story provides us with a strong feminist icon in the character of Lisbeth Salander, and that the portrayal of sexual violence in the film – while horrible to watch – is used for the right reasons, to educate the audience and to generate sympathy for victims of these types of crime, while addressing difficult questions about ideas such as the justification of revenge and how we define what makes a criminal.

The issue of sexual violence is present in two separate strands of the story: Firstly, in the rape of Lisbeth Salander – the title character – by her legal guardian, and her subsequent revenge that she takes over him for this act. And secondly, in the investigation carried out by Salander and Blomkvist into the mysterious disappearance of a young girl named Harriet Vanger over 30 years previously. This investigation leads them to discover a series of violent murders all committed against women and linked to the disappearance of Harriet in that she too suffered sexual abuse at the hands of the killer(s).

I would argue that it was not the author’s intention with this book to sensationalise the act of rape in any way. Larsson witnessed the gang rape of a young girl when he was just 15, and this book (and the rest of the Millenium trilogy) seems to be his way of dealing with his guilt about being unable to do anything to stop it. The character of Lisbeth, as well as taking her name from the young girl whose rape Larsson witnessed, is portrayed as a strong, powerful character who does not need anybody else to save or protect her. Her frightening revenge against her rapist seems to be Larsson’s way of providing closure to the event that had tormented him for so long. Larsson’s intentions are further emphasised in his original choice of title for the book: Män som hatar kvinnor or Men Who Hate Women – a title evidentally too powerful for the British publisher who insisted it be changed to The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.

It is my belief that the film can be linked in to the rape-revenge genre of films. Although the rape of Salander and her revenge upon her rapist take up a fairly small amount of screen time and aren’t part of the main narrative, those events arguably have the biggest impact in the entire film. The rape-revenge film is also commonly associated with the horror genre, but most definitely is not limited to it. Some further examples of rape-revenge films include I Spit on Your Grave (1978), Irréversible (2002) and Freeze Me (2000). While it should be acknowledged that not all films pertaining to this genre are non-exploitative of violence against women, many of them do contain feminist messages. Sarah Projansky states that a common facet of many rape-revenge films is the idea that “…women face rape, recognise that the law will neither protect nor avenge them, and then take the law into their own hands”, and this is certainly present in The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. Knowing society’s assumptions about Salander, both she and the viewer/reader are well aware that her options are extremely limited. It almost seems as though her revenge against her guardian is justifiable as we are given the impression that it is the only thing she can do to ensure that she gets the money and freedom that she is rightfully entitled to.

Examining the rape scene in David Fincher’s adaptation in more detail, we can view it as a direct contrast to the sex scene that takes place between Blomkvist and Salander later on in the film. Fincher uses a fast edit, awkward angles and an uncomfortable soundtrack for the rape scene which all emphasise the horror of the act. Rooney Mara’s performance as Salander is the key to the scene, and Fincher lingers for a long time on her screaming face as the rape occurs. The viewer is constantly willing the camera to cut away so that we do not have to witness her torment any longer, but Fincher makes us stay with it, making us feel as trapped in the situation as Salander is herself. There is no gratuitous lingering of the camera on Salander’s naked body, as Salander’s emotions are the most important part of the scene. Fincher contrasts this with the consensual sex scene between her and Blomkvist, where we are ‘allowed’ to look at Salander’s body. The soundtrack here is also much gentler and more pleasant, the lighting is soft and the scene ends with a slow pan-out and fade, all contributing to a much more comfortable viewing experience. While some viewers would argue that being shown Salander’s rape is unnecessary, I would suggest that without this shocking scene we would not feel as much sympathy for her situation. By witnessing this in such violent detail we identify with her character and what she’s going through to some extent, because the scene was so powerful that it leaves us feeling violated too. The issue of rape is a very real one, and to say that rape should not be shown in films is to suggest that it should simply be swept under a rug and forgotten about.

However, the portrayal of revenge as a positive act is something that I find a little harder to stomach. Although we are given the impression that this is the only way that justice will be done and so in some ways we watch that revenge scene willing Salander to succeed, it is still very uncomfortable viewing. After all, Salander is now committing a crime just as bad as the one that has been done to her. Do we accept that it was okay for her to do this because of her troubled background and because we now see her as a victim? Furthermore, it is a characteristic of most rape-revenge films that the victim changes in some way as a person due to her sexual abuse. Normally this would be represented in the character becoming stronger as a result of it. However in this film we do not see that happening, perhaps because Salander is already a strong character due to previous problems in childhood. In fact, Salander’s rape is literally forgotten about as soon as that revenge scene is over, we see no indication that Salander is still suffering with the after-effects of being raped and it is not really mentioned again in the narrative. Does this suggest that something like that can simply be forgotten about if the perpetrator has been punished? To me it seems like Fincher is belittling the issue by writing it off in this way. In the books this does not happen, we are continually reminded of what happened and we are given some more background into Salander’s character which helps to explain her actions. I can only hope that Fincher plans to justify this in later films.

Further reading and references:

• ‘Rape-Revenge Films: A Critical Study’ (2011) by Alexandra Heller-Nicholas – A good background and analysis of the rape-revenge genre as a whole.
• http://www.sensesofcinema.com/2005/36/freeze_me/ – Article about the rape-revenge film Freeze Me, which also provides a background to the genre.
• http://www.feministfatale.com/2010/04/the-girl-with-the-dragon-tattoo-rape-fantasy/ – A different perspective on TGWTDT, arguing that it sensationalises sexual abuse.
• http://opinionessoftheworld.com/2011/12/27/hollywoods-the-girl-with-the-dragon-tattoo/

  http://www.smh.com.au/news/book-reviews/the-girl-with-the-dragon-tattoo/2008/02/22/1203467362919.html?page=2

  http://parabasis.typepad.com/blog/2010/04/the-girl-with-the-dragon-tattoo.html

  http://www.newstatesman.com/blogs/laurie-penny/2010/09/women-girl-real-violence
  - A selection of different reviews and articles on the film.

Joseph is portrayed as a bitter old man, spending his days gravitating between the betting shop and the pub, whose uncontrollable rage is displayed to us within the first few minutes of the film when he kicks his dog to death. The introduction of Hannah provides a stark contrast – she is seen as positively angelic in comparison, a forgiving Christian woman who works in a charity shop and is keen to help everybody, including Joseph despite the horrific cruelty he shows towards her at times. We soon learn that Hannah is the victim of terrible mistreatment at the hands of her husband, and Hannah and Joseph form an unlikely friendship through her suffering. Considine manipulates the audience’s emotions constantly by changing our perceptions of the lead characters, who continually subvert our expectations. The audience is on edge throughout the film, expecting Joseph to snap at any moment. But while we see him frequently doing and saying horrible things he is not portrayed as an inherently evil character, he remains human in the way that we can see he is suffering inside. Similarly, although Hannah is portrayed as a victim and initially seems angelic, she is not simply a character which we must feel sympathy for – the characterisation in this film is much more complicated and thought-provoking than that, and the actors’ astounding performances help to reinforce this sense of realism.

Considine uses the metaphor of the dog to reference Hannah (and in some ways also the unseen character of Joseph’s wife)  brilliantly throughout, with lines such as “I treated her like a dog” and “An animal can only take so much punishment and humiliation before it snaps” being used to show a double meaning. Interesting questions about morality and revenge are raised: are Hannah’s actions justified? The issue of religion is also at the forefront of the film, Christianity being Hannah’s way of ‘coping’ with her life and her answer to everybody elses problems too, but the implication that her faith did nothing to help her, and Joseph’s continual rejection of Christianity even right at the very end of the film suggest that religion is no solution to these problems, and that redemption must be achieved through other means.

The repetitive nature of the narrative (similarities between the relationship of Joseph and his wife/Hannah and her husband, the continual use of dogs) and the depressing events that unfold make Tyrannosaur some pretty grim viewing. A few brief moments of respite are provided by the use of humorous one liners and characters like Tommy, whose narrative function is basically just to amuse, but overall the mood of the film is very low and definitely has to be viewed when in a contemplative mood. The film leaves us with an element of hope, but felt like a disappointingly lazy ending to a film which was otherwise very well thought out.

It was said by the French film-maker François Truffaut, that in cinema “whatever is said instead of being shown is lost upon the viewer”. He was referring to Hitchcock’s talent for telling a story using visual elements rather than patronising the viewer with needless explanatory dialogue, but I believe that this skill can also be attributed to Lynne Ramsey in her most recent directorial effort, We Need to Talk About Kevin – based on the book of the same name – and that this skill can be seen right from the opening scene.

Eva is the focal character of the film, although it is her son Kevin (Ezra Miller) who is responsible for the majority of the action. A difficult pregnancy and post-natal depression leaves Eva feeling emotionally disconnected from her child, who grows up with extreme behavioural issues and bitterness all channelling towards his mother. Kevin’s issues culminate in his teenage years on an attack on his school, reminiscent of the Columbine high school massacre. Ramsey skilfully portrays these events in a choppy, non-linear narrative which requires the viewer to gradually piece together what has happened, focusing predominantly on Eva’s perspective of events and the way that she has to deal with the aftermath. The film raises interesting questions about parenting; who or what is responsible for a person being bad? Nature or nurture? Although we certainly can not agree with Eva’s parenting methods at all times, the fact the film is shown from her point-of-view means that we are forced to identify with her and feel her pain. The fear of being a bad parent is something that everyone can relate to in some way, and this film literally portrays a parent’s worst nightmare.

I really could not fault Swinton’s performance in this film, so much is conveyed just through her facial expression and not what she is saying but the way in which she is saying it. She manages to convey so much anger and despair and manages to convey it even when her character is acting reasonably cheerfully, as though these emotions are always bubbling beneath the surface. Ezra Miller is witty, sarcastic and plays the role of a villain very well, but it could be said that his character is portrayed as being unrealistically evil. He treats his mother horribly but he is well aware that he is doing so and does it relentlessly, despite being perfectly reasonable around his father.

Imagery in this film is particularly powerful, the colour red is used repeatedly as mentioned in the juice of the tomatos and the red lights outside the school, but also in the shots that the film keeps coming back to, showing Eva scrubbing red paint from her house and her hands. So many images in the film are powerful and stay with you after viewing, but these shots are so memorable because they symbolise the way in which Eva is continually having to live with what her son has done.

In my eyes, this is a near-perfect film, and certainly the best new release I have seen in 2011. The depressing subject matter and confusing narrative structure means that it’s not for everyone (my stepdad’s reaction to the film: “It was alright once I managed to work out what the bloody hell was going on”), but if you have the patience for something like this it is so, so rewarding.

The film’s theme of erotic discovery is reminiscent of such works as Stanley Kubrick’s Eyes Wide Shut, and some of the films of Lars von Trier, (in fact, Charlotte Gainsbourg’s character in Antichrist was supposedly part of the inspiration for Browning’s performance in this film). The cinematography is beautiful and flawless, with the long takes and lack of camera movement creating a detached and somewhat clinical feel which completely de-eroticises the events that we are seeing on-screen. The repeated reminder that no penetration is allowed also highlights this total lack of pleasure. This serves to create a negative comment on the sexual objectification of women and the passivity expected of them, as well as opposing the male gaze which cinema frequently represents.

However, it is not always clear what messages Leigh is trying to convey. The end of the film seems to depict Lucy being punished for her curiosity (much as the fairy-tale sleeping beauty was punished for her curiosity when she approached the spinning wheel), which contradicts the apparently feminist message. It is also particularly difficult to understand her character’s motives; at first we think she must be desperate for the money, but when we watch her burn her earnings in one scene it becomes clear that she is not doing this for monetary reward. She appears both willing and unwilling to take part in these sexual acts, and this uncertainty makes it quite difficult to identify and sympathise with her character.

One scene that remains with me in particular is one in which Lucy chooses to sit next to a sleeping woman on a train, despite the fact that there are plenty of free seats elsewhere. She is clearly fascinated by the sleeping woman as she openly stares and even touches her face. The audience has to wonder why she has chosen to sit there; perhaps Lucy is fascinated with the complete loss of control over external happenings that sleep provides, or maybe she is realising the terrible power that the watcher has over a sleeping person in that moment? What is interesting about this film is that Leigh doesn’t provide us with all the answers, the film is deliberately ambiguous, which leaves it open to plenty of speculation, discussion and debate.