This past year has seen a wave of female directed movies – whether it be horror, drama, or comedy – fixed upon the female body. Unsurprisingly, with the political climate of the past few years surrounding women’s bodily autonomy, many of the films I saw at Chicago’s 60th International Film Festival carried these same interests. It was intriguing to see how each filmmaker approaches the female body, and uses whichever genre they are operating under to interrogate different aspects of the subject. I saw a variety of unique perspectives, both domestic and foreign, that somehow attempted to grapple with some of the themes that have been at the forefront of many people’s minds.
In a film that dips into many different genres, I was fascinated yet befuddled by Marielle Heller’s “Nightbitch,” an adaptation of the 2021 novel of the same name written by Rachel Yoder. The film opens with a sharp monologue delivered by its star Amy Adams about how exhausted she is, and how she yearns for a life before motherhood. These are relevant, truthful themes that have rarely been explored with such honesty in a mainstream film before. The film’s premise promises a satirical yet blunt takedown of motherhood and the crushing expectations that come with it. “Nightbitch” is part of a recent trend we’ve seen in more mainstream films tackling feminist issues. What could set “Nightbitch” apart from these other depictions should be the fact that the main character also believes she is turning into a dog. Instead, “Nightbitch” struggles to balance this metaphor with its sentimental tone, resulting in a confusing blend of humor, body horror, and sincerity.
The film’s greatest strength lies in Adams’s performance as an exhausted mother, who feels forgotten, invisible, and alone. Her fight against anonymity is grueling. As the story reveals more of what she has lost as she becomes a mother, a tragic undertone is revealed. These are the moments that feel most impactful, despite some of the dialogue feeling too on the nose. Adams is able to deliver a grounded performance, even when she is running on all fours. The supporting cast adds flourishes of humor or additional evidence to the main character’s feelings of frustration, but it never all coalesces together.
Between scenes of absurd comedy and devastating monologues, Heller’s film becomes a mixed bag. There are glimmers of brilliance in “Nightbitch,” such as its brutal honesty, but it is dragged down by an underused storytelling device and confusing tone, resulting in a flat exploration of the very themes it set out to break down.
In her shining, gooey, pink hued feature debut, Sasha Rainbow’s “Grafted” employs her main character Young Wei (Joyena Sun) as a catalyst for a brutal body horror film that delves into the social lives of a group of college girls in New Zealand. Wei, who has worn a skin deformity on her face since childhood, travels from her home country China to New Zealand for school. Living with her aunt and popular cousin Angela (Jess Hong), Wei struggles to fit into a new space and different culture. However, her main goal is not fitting in, rather it is to continue her father’s work of perfecting a skin grafting technique that could heal her “deformity.” As her research becomes more successful, the lengths she will go to to fit in begin to turn bloody.
The enjoyment of “Grafted” lies in its humor and special effects. Rainbow’s film carries an air of levity, injecting comedy into the most awkward of situations. That humorous tone is then quickly flipped on its head by gruesome visual effects once the body horror kicks in. The slimy prosthetics are enhanced by a crackling sound design that amplifies every skin snap to a sickening degree. She also plays with her story structure by continuing to twist the expectations of the audience as Wei falls deeper into the consequences of her rash decisions. Not only are the performances from the cast memorable, but the sound of skin ripping, sticking, and falling off will ring in your ears long after the credits have rolled.
Rainbow’s colorful film brings more than just body horror, however. She uses the genre to not only interrogate beauty standards, but also cultural differences, misogyny, and prejudice. While not every beat clicks, the final outcome is a shockingly brutal takedown of a specific type of girlhood. Whatever Rainbow chooses to do next, it will surely make you squirm in your seat.
Josephine Stewart-Te Whiu’s “We Were Dangerous” grapples with the dark impact colonization had on New Zealand by crafting a story about young “delinquent” girls who are sent off to a state school during the 1950s. The goals of these state schools were to “Christanize, civilize, and assimilate,” according to the film’s antagonistic matriarch. The film features a large cast of young actors, many of which are of Indigenous backgrounds, which is also relevant to the history the film is based upon. Once one of the girls becomes pregnant, it is decided they should all be sent off to an island cut off from society, ensuring that no more will “procreate.”
While Stewart-Te Whiu’s film tackles incredibly heavy subject matter, the dialogue of the script (written by Maddie Dai) brings a brightness to the story, allowing for a joyful celebration of friendship, no matter where you come from. The dialogue feels natural, and the girls share a rebellious spirit that shines through the screen. As the situation on the island grows more dire for the girls, flashbacks are sprinkled throughout to give context to how they ended up there in the first place. These flashbacks of teenagers being, well, teeneagers, are juxtaposed with the The Matron’s (Rima Te Wiata) harsh language of what awful human beings they are. The main trio of Nellie (Erana James), Daisy (Manaia Hall), and Lou (Nathalie Morris) represent not only the many kinds of woman one can be, but also the rebellious nature needed to overcome oppression.
In its short run time, “We Were Dangerous” aptly explores a diverse adolescence while also shedding light on a heinous part of New Zealand’s history, the effects of which are still being felt today. The modern approach to the girls’ characters and dialogue brings the film into the present, reminding us that these are not ideas lost to the past, but still present in many people’s agendas today.
Girlhood is a cold, unforgiving, and lonely experience in Saulė Bliuvaitė’s “Toxic,” a brutal depiction of two young girls who will do anything to escape their small town in Lithuania through a local modeling school. When thirteen-year-old Marija (Vesta Matulyte) comes to a desolate industrial town to live with her grandmother, she is the subject of ridicule because of a limp she was born with. She soon befriends Kristina (Ieva Rupeikaite), and the two make it their goal to succeed in the modeling school they entered, which promises them a chance to escape to a more glamorous life.
In Bliuvaitė’s film, the youthful characters who reside in the empty industrial town feel just as abandoned as its buildings – Marija and Kristina fall into dangerous crowds and habits that grow increasingly intense. The chosen aesthetics further communicate the characters’ isolation with extreme wide shots and cool toned colors. The two girls are alone in their juvenility, providing the perfect breeding ground for harmful behaviors to take root. Bliuvaitė’s depictions of the turmoil girls go through – beauty standards, sexuality, independence – are ruthless in their portrayals. Emerging from this destruction is a severe illustration presented by the film’s two naturalistic leads. Bliuvaitė’s direction combined with the cast performances result in a grounded yet intense representation.
“Toxic” is a violent film, though there is little actual violence. The cruelty of it is what Marija and Kristina inflict upon themselves – their bodies and their safety. The pressure comes from all around them; the modeling school, the older boys they hang out with, and each other. “Toxic” is a showcase of the cruelty of growing up as a girl in this world, and all the invisible suffering that comes with it.
In a small town in Finland, Niina (Oona Airola) finds herself working as a single mom at a local newspaper as an archivist, while her abusive ex-husband is away. When a Russian missile seemingly lands nearby, the small town is thrown into disarray. As the government denies any missile existence, Niina obsessively digs deeper for the truth, insisting on its importance. With a large cast of shiny characters, writer and director Miia Tervo crafts a sharp mix of political drama and personal comedy. Tervo balances the high stakes of Niina’s investigation with quick dialogue, as well as a sweet romance on the side. When all of these pieces come together, the connections between the missile investigation and Niina’s own relationship with herself become particularly clear.
Niina is a woman who won’t back down to the government, her boss, or the rest of the town who just wants her to move on from the conflict. Yet, standing up for herself is something Niina is just learning how to do. As she takes on her new role at the newspaper, a confidence springs up in her as does her interest in the incident. A passion that wasn’t present before now is. Through her investigation, she is able to uncover the truth of the missile incident while also reclaiming her life from her abusive past. Undergoing a personal transformation, Niina discovers not only the truth about the missile, but also a newfound strength within her.
The witty line deliveries undercut the more serious tones of the story, leaving “The Missile” a fun ride to the end. To top all that off, Tervo also crafts a lovely small town romance for her lead. Tervo excellently blends genre together to form a strong story of self realization and strength, putting forth a delightful ride soaked in the heavy snows of Finland.
