The Duke of Burgundy.
Steeped and seemingly set in 70s European film (though it never feels like pastiche, apart from the knowing wink of the opening credits) where the light always has the quality of late afternoon in early summer. It's about a lesbian couple (there are no men at all in the film. No cars, either), and their sub/Dom dynamic, about who actually is in charge in such a thing. Butterflys and moths feature - the characters collect and study them, and attend lectures on them - though I couldn't quite grasp the symbolism there. Change, of course, and this stanza from Eliot's 'Prufrock' kept coming back to me:
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
There's a fetishistic approach to costume. Lots of texture. Heavy on the nylon, and on skin as a ridged, knitted surface rather than the wipe-clean rubberised photoshopped surface that we're presented with nowadays. There's sensuality and eroticism and langour and, as the film progresses and the characters reveal themselves and their relationship, it's tender and moving. Funny too, thank God. Brilliant use of sound. A proper cinematic experience I wish I could see in a proper cinema.
The specifics - a lesbian sub/Dom relationship somewhere in man-free 70s Europe - actually allow it a universality about roles and expectations and pressures in any relationship, romantic or otherwise.
Knocked my socks off. I look forward to looking into the writer-director's other work.
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Of course, it's probably quite a bit more complicated than that.
You know sometimes, between the dames and the horses, I don't even know why I put my hat on.