Vicky Krieps

The Dead Don’t Hurt

10/06/24

Cineworld, Edinburgh

I’ve always had a soft spot for Westerns but these days (on the big screen, at least) they’re about as rare as hens’ teeth. The Dead Don’t Hurt is clearly a passion project for Viggo Mortensen. As well as starring, he wrote it, directed it and even created the distinctive folk-tinged score. (For all I know, he did the catering as well.) As Westerns go, this is an atypical example, featuring few of the genre’s familiar tropes and cleverly subverting the ones that it actually does borrow. It’s handsomely mounted and beautifully filmed by cinematographer Marcel Zyskind.

Mortensen plays Danish immigrant carpenter, Holger Olsen, who, when we first encounter him, is bidding a sad farewell to his dying partner, Vivienne Le Coudy (Vicky Krieps), watched by their young son, Vincent (Atlas Green). From here the story flashes back to Holger’s first meeting with Vivienne, showing how he instantly falls under the spell of this headstrong, unconventional young woman.

The main action of the story occurs when Holger and Vivienne set up home together in a remote cabin, close to the town of Elk Flats, Nevada, a place dominated by corrupt landowner, Alfred Jeffries (Garret Dillahunt) and his violently-inclined son, Weston (Solly McLeod). Together with crooked Mayor Rudolph Schiller (Danny Huston), the Jeffries have the place pretty much under their collective thumbs – the evils of capitalism are already exerting a powerful influence and God help anyone who dares to oppose it.

When Holger decides to enlist in the Union Army to fight in the Civil War, his only option is to leave Vivienne alone to run the homestead and, of course, he is away for years. While he’s gone, Vivienne is at the mercy of Weston, who has had his eye on her from their first meeting…

The Dead Don’t Hurt unfolds a compelling story of anger and retribution and both Krieps and Mortensen portray their characters with sensitivity. The various shifts in time and place are handled with considerable skill and the scenes where Vivienne manages to grow exotic flowers in the heart of the Nevada badlands are particularly memorable. It’s clear from the outset that the story is heading (inevitably) towards darker territory and, while Weston is a relentlessly unpleasant character, there’s some explanation for why this might be the case.

Even a climactic showdown between hero and villain is understated and the film is brave enough to offer an open-ended conclusion as to where Holger and Vincent may be headed next.

While it’s unlikely to make much of a dent at the box office, this is enjoyable stuff and those who have a hankering for a decent Western should seek it out on the big screen, where those Nevada landscapes will look more impressive than on streaming.

3.8 stars

Philip Caveney

Corsage

02/01/23

The Cameo, Edinburgh

Corsage, for me, is something of a history lesson, albeit one with a lot of fictional elements, so I have to do some frantic reading afterwards, to learn about the source material, and to understand the narrative that is being reimagined here. Austrian writer-director Marie Kreutzer has clearly grown up in a country familiar with Empress Elisabeth, who – along with her husband, Franz Joseph – ruled Austria and Hungary for the latter half of the19th century. It shows. There is almost no exposition: the audience is clearly expected to know Elisabeth, to be aware of her reputation. I’ve never heard of her until today, and I suspect that many others in this cinema are in the same position. This doesn’t spoil the film at all, but it does make me very aware that I am – even as someone who can speak German – experiencing it very differently from its native viewers.

Vicky Krieps plays the Empress. It’s 1877, the eve of her 40th birthday, and she’s desperately bored and unhappy. Her husband (Florian Teichtmeister) tells her that her job is simply to ‘represent’, while his is to, you know, do the actual work involved in heading up an empire. ‘Representing’ mostly means looking beautiful, and looking beautiful mostly means being thin, so Elisabeth’s days are spent exercising, eating tiny slivers of orange and being laced into impossibly tight corsets. No wonder she’s cranky: snapping at the servants, pretending to faint rather than endure another round of meets-and-greets. She’s contemptuous and entitled too – but why wouldn’t she be? Royalty is raised that way. Despite it all, she’s a tragic character, oppressed by the very regime she symbolises, and isolated from her children. I find myself drawn to her, empathising with her sense of entrapment. Krieps imbues her with a vulnerability that softens her, despite never pulling any punches about her capricious nature.

Kreutzer’s direction is interesting. The film moves at a glacial pace, which I find irritating at times, especially in the middle third. But there are many quirky flourishes to admire: the deliberate anachronisms; the audacious fabrications. There are some delicious little jokes (look out for the Emperor’s whiskers), and some very salient points about the nature of celebrity, and the ways in which women are expected to perform. Elisabeth’s straitjacket might be an invisible designer one, cut from the finest fabric, but – in her way – she’s just as trapped as the women she visits in the asylum. Given the opportunity to use her voice where she won’t be heard (in a silent movie reel), her mouth moves to mirror the screams she hears in the hospital. It’s the same gilded cage that did for Diana. And there’s only one way to escape… Let’s hope Meghan and Harry manage to buck the trend.

Corsage, then, is a fascinating piece of cinema. While I don’t exactly enjoy it, I am impressed by it, and I know I’ll be thinking about it for quite some time to come.

3.8 stars

Susan Singfield

Phantom Thread

03/02/18

Phantom Thread comes to our screens burdened with promise. Written and directed by Paul Thomas Anderson (Magnolia, There will Be Blood), it abandons his usual Californian locations for 1950s UK, and stars Daniel Day Lewis in what is purported to be his final role. Little wonder it has received so many Oscar nominations.

Unsurprising then, that there is plenty here to admire, even if there is very little to actually like. As a character study, it’s cleverly done and the acting is sublime. Day Lewis’s personification of spoiled and finicky fashion designer Reynolds Woodcock is as detailed and compelling as we’ve come to expect; Lesley Manville’s portrayal of his sister Cyril an object lesson in understated acerbity. Newcomer Vicky Krieps is an enigmatic delight, breathing warmth and freshness into the role of Alma, the young waitress who catches Reynolds’ eye. It’s great to see Julia Davis revelling in the depiction of arch gossip Lady Baltimore, and there’s a host of supporting actors doing cracking stuff on screen. And it all looks wonderful, of course: from the gorgeous fashions to the sumptuous decor; from the washed-out lighting to the grandeur of their homes.

And yet…

It’s the plot, I think, that bothers me. I don’t have the obvious concerns (rich, successful man with an overwhelming sense of entitlement meets poor foreign waitress with no understanding of her own potential – and proceeds to change her life) because I think these are successfully subverted by the way that Alma is portrayed; she has agency from the beginning, and makes her own desire as clear as his. She and Reynolds talk as equals; she is not quashed by him, even as she stands submissively allowing him to dress her. The set-up itself is fine: his unreasonable demands are shown for what they are; Cyril’s role as mediator between her brother and the world is clearly a necessary one. He’s a genius, and a successful one; allowances must be made, because he tends to tire of his girlfriends quickly, and treats them with evident contempt. But Alma is different. She challenges his behaviour, won’t allow him to dispose of her.

Some critics have suggested that this skews the power dynamic in her favour, or puts the couple on an even footing, but I find myself squirming at this suggestion. Because (minor spoiler alert!) Alma’s only power, in the end, is negative.  She doesn’t become stronger, she just weakens him. If mimicking the behaviour of Munchausens-by-proxy is the only means to sustain a relationship, then I’d argue the relationship is very toxic indeed. And it’s not that I’m suggesting that a film cannot portray a toxic relationship. Of course it can. Neither is it that I expect morals from my movies. It’s just… the story arc suggests this is a happy ending, of sorts, and the reviews I’ve read don’t even hint that this resolution is at least problematic for the characters involved. Misogyny is not challenged by feminine wiles and culinary arts, it’s merely reinforced. And, to my mind, this is a fatal wound from which Phantom Thread never quite recovers.

3.8 stars

Susan Singfield