In his thirties, Chilean writer-director Pablo Larrain made uncannily wise films about fiftysomething men. Now 43, he’s made a film about a twenty-something woman, which went down a treat with critics in Venice.
Dancer Ema (newcomer Mariana Di Girolamo; rubber-limbed; ferociously charismatic), is at war with her infertile choreographer husband, Gaston (Gael García Bernal). They adopted a boy, but when the kid’s behaviour became difficult, gave him back. Now they blame each other for this failure and Ema is on a mission to put things right.
The drama that ensues is visually inventive and full of spry dance moves. It’s the writing that’s flabby. Ema is simply a symbol for freewheeling, fluid, youthful energy. Free of qualms or self-doubt, she commits crimes (with the help of her loyal girlfriends), and never has to face repercussions. She’s an outlaw who’s above the law; a Dada-ist dreamgirl whom uptight adults, despite themselves, can’t resist.
Full of self-consciously soapy revelations, bare breasts and orgiastic sex, it fancies itself as outrageous, difficult and anarchic. Anyone who doesn’t rave about it risks being cast as a stick-in-the-mud. But sod it. I was bored rigid.
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