I found this film captivating to watch. A slow and ambiguous start made for a somewhat meditative beginning and I followed the rest of Lucy's story with a curious sense of foreboding as well intrigue and care. As a women, I found some of Lucy's adventures to be relatable, often endearing, sometimes quite vulnerable, and most often tinged with subtle danger - mainly as a result of some of the dubious relationships she forms with males in her new urban world. At times it is painful to witness Lucy's naïve and under confident attempts to create herself anew in a city which appears indifferent and even hostile to her being there in the first place. Although the promise of vibrant city life seems to fill Lucy with a great sense hope and idealism, it seems that the urban context works to compound her sense of alienation and self-doubt, yet she remains buoyant in her outward appearance I wondered what might be behind her 'pleasing' façade and self-conscious behavior. Lucy struggles to take up space in all the situations she finds herself in, which range from a shared house situation in which she seems to shrink away in corners and giggle nervously, or notably in the opening scene which reveals her squashed up on the floor in a public toilet where she has presumably spent the night. A predatory vibe follows Lucy throughout the plot and made my skin crawl at times. This imminent sense of danger is attributed to the men in which she finds herself in contact as well as the larger metropolitan environment which seems to prey on her vulnerabilities whilst offering occasional opportunities for Lucy to begin to touch her own sense of power and belonging. Lucy's overall experience of disconnect contradicts her supposed desire to 'get out there' and be someone, connect, experiment, explore and find her voice through art. She does strive to grow beyond her limits and makes some meaningful personal breakthroughs such as her own bodily sensuality and pleasure contemporary dance class, yet these small successes are quickly undermined by the toxicity of her relationships with people who demand that she stay small, meek and accommodating in her femaleness. For instance, the power she claims in that dance class is quickly robbed off her by the older, somewhat predatory male housemate who witnesses (possibly demands??) an erotic dance of her in the living room. He pays her the empty compliment of "it's so great to see you break out of your cages, Lucy" yet we see Lucy once again assume her cringeworthy role of domestic servitude in the household and begin to suspect that darkness may be just around the next corner. None of the suggested potential dangers actually unfold however, and the power of this film is in its ability to evoke these tensions and situations and allow audiences to do the work of sitting with uncomfortable emotions in response to the anticipation of what might come next. For me, so much of the beauty of this film comes from its featuring of complex issues that many women may identify with - how to exist in a world where we are expected to giggle inanely in the face of gender injustice and power discrepancies. The lightheartness which this film exhibits however allows these issues to be explored tenderly, with humour and with a touching sense of realness and empathy for Lucy's struggles and her small procession of successes. Some terrific unselfconscious acting from the main protagonists add to the joy of watching this story unfold over time.
3 Reviews
Set adrift in a shallow pool
mikegates-2909016 November 2018
I found this film available online and was intrigued enough to give it a look. It's a film about a virginal and somewhat socially awkward young woman named Lucy who is in the midst of trying to launch a musical career at a time when she is becoming comfortable in her own skin sexually. When we meet her, she is existing in a vacuum, moving from place to place in a city where every new encounter with other people quickly takes a turn for the painfully uncomfortable and bizarre. The film brings us slowly into the full experience of her isolation. When we meet her, she's asleep on the floor of a public bathroom where she has spent the night. This tone, which initially alarms us turns into a stark emotional space that is slowly filled with the protagonists' unique determination, though never completely relieving us of a sense of danger. This mainly comes from the men she encounters, one of whom is her eccentric and much older male roommate, and the other who has convinced her to provide voice narration to audio descriptions of sexual encounters. Both ultimately prove to be essentially harmless, but the potential danger is implied throughout and the film is very effective in recruiting us to a sympathetic concern for its' main character.
This type of ambiguity, not just about how to feel, but how to interpret what we're seeing provides many of the film's complicated pleasures. Lucy is clearly uncomfortable and hiding much behind the nervous smile she wears throughout the movies' seventy odd minutes. It's a smile that takes on different connotations as it surfaces as different times; sometimes it's amusement or optimism, while other times, such as in a confrontation with her mother, it seems like more of a protective shield against her emotional vulnerability. We like Lucy and are easily brought along on her search, but wont get direct access to what is going on behind that smile until the film's final moments; until then wondering if this is a brave journey toward a greater purpose, or a desperate escape from something.
To give us a further sense of the free fall Lucy's life seems to be in, the film favors an unadorned and often times even bland style that favors lingering shots, slow movement, and mundane dialog. The meaning of the scene is not contained in it's words, and the viewer must be willing to put in the extra effort to engage with the film in order to gleam anything about what they're seeing. Neither explanatory, nor musical cues are there to help. To get a sense of it's tone, it brings to mind the movie Frances Ha, which is very similar thematically, being the tale of a young woman trying to find herself in the midst of a difficult career path and unwelcoming urban environment. It takes a sharp turn away from the polished surface of that film, however. When You Can Say Vagina gets laughs, it's typically the result of squirm inducing discomfort and not witty banter or animated quirkiness. We get more a sense of being part of Lucy's struggles rather than just to look in and observe, and wont be overtly offered any conclusions about them by the film itself. It's still executed in a traditional dramatic structure, however, establishing a tone that is neither cinema verite nor indie hipster comedy, but something that slightly echoes both.
It's uncool characters are one of the distinguishing traits that ends up making you want to take the film a little more seriously than the above mentioned Frances Ha. There's no bohemian avant garde angle to it all, Lucy is never pretentious or emblematic of any kind of starving artist, despite her ambitions becoming the narrative drive. She is simply a girl trying to take control of the forces spinning around her as she looks for a sense of home. After her vocational search has pulled her along through the sex recordings and the first inklings of erotic dance, things only get more complicated as her responses to her difficulties become challenges of their own, and it becomes a struggle just to find the room to grow or opportunity to safely fail. The film leaves us on an optimistic note, but not the resolution Lucy is yet looking for, and the search for her happy ending will continue. The slow plotting encumbers the film a little bit particularly at the beginning, but the pacing picks up as the film progresses to its' emotional conclusion. It's a very rewarding film for those willing to settle into the slow burn of this weird world.
This type of ambiguity, not just about how to feel, but how to interpret what we're seeing provides many of the film's complicated pleasures. Lucy is clearly uncomfortable and hiding much behind the nervous smile she wears throughout the movies' seventy odd minutes. It's a smile that takes on different connotations as it surfaces as different times; sometimes it's amusement or optimism, while other times, such as in a confrontation with her mother, it seems like more of a protective shield against her emotional vulnerability. We like Lucy and are easily brought along on her search, but wont get direct access to what is going on behind that smile until the film's final moments; until then wondering if this is a brave journey toward a greater purpose, or a desperate escape from something.
To give us a further sense of the free fall Lucy's life seems to be in, the film favors an unadorned and often times even bland style that favors lingering shots, slow movement, and mundane dialog. The meaning of the scene is not contained in it's words, and the viewer must be willing to put in the extra effort to engage with the film in order to gleam anything about what they're seeing. Neither explanatory, nor musical cues are there to help. To get a sense of it's tone, it brings to mind the movie Frances Ha, which is very similar thematically, being the tale of a young woman trying to find herself in the midst of a difficult career path and unwelcoming urban environment. It takes a sharp turn away from the polished surface of that film, however. When You Can Say Vagina gets laughs, it's typically the result of squirm inducing discomfort and not witty banter or animated quirkiness. We get more a sense of being part of Lucy's struggles rather than just to look in and observe, and wont be overtly offered any conclusions about them by the film itself. It's still executed in a traditional dramatic structure, however, establishing a tone that is neither cinema verite nor indie hipster comedy, but something that slightly echoes both.
It's uncool characters are one of the distinguishing traits that ends up making you want to take the film a little more seriously than the above mentioned Frances Ha. There's no bohemian avant garde angle to it all, Lucy is never pretentious or emblematic of any kind of starving artist, despite her ambitions becoming the narrative drive. She is simply a girl trying to take control of the forces spinning around her as she looks for a sense of home. After her vocational search has pulled her along through the sex recordings and the first inklings of erotic dance, things only get more complicated as her responses to her difficulties become challenges of their own, and it becomes a struggle just to find the room to grow or opportunity to safely fail. The film leaves us on an optimistic note, but not the resolution Lucy is yet looking for, and the search for her happy ending will continue. The slow plotting encumbers the film a little bit particularly at the beginning, but the pacing picks up as the film progresses to its' emotional conclusion. It's a very rewarding film for those willing to settle into the slow burn of this weird world.
The Indie Exploration of Toxic Masculinity
owlabilly4 September 2018
With 'You Can Say Vagina' as a title, I had no idea what to expect from the indie feature, so, with an open mind I watched the plot unravel, until every inch of me was caught up in the gripping narrative of the film.
The pacing of the plot was executed to agonising perfection. The feature starts off with Ruby, starting her new venture - sleeping in a public toilet surrounded by all of her belongings. At first, her innocent adventure depicts those amazing chance meetings that you happen when you travel alone. Yet, it doesn't take long for the narrative to become bitter-sweet. Ultimately, the feature is a poignant depiction of how vulnerability can easily be exploited. With her sweet nature, she ends up in some of the most cringe-worthy predicaments I've ever seen played out on-screen. At first, her shy giggling demeanour can be a little grating, yet once her character starts to develop you see her true essence. The shy laughter is essentially a façade used to hide any form of real emotion. It isn't until later in the feature you get an idea of why she ran away and just what she's hiding.
You Can Say Vagina is an essential film with everything that is happening with our society. Women are expected to stand by and giggle whilst they get groped or sexualised. So, really, the plot isn't that far removed from a commentary on the 21st century Weinstein era. The scenes may have been orchestrated for comedic effect, yet, once you start to consider how atypical the enactments are in real life, the feature ultimately becomes sobering.
Co-writers and directors Mischa Baka and Siobhan Jackson come together to prove just why more women should be celebrated in the film industry. Their resonant approach to the feature provided a narrative which could never have been written by a male director, whilst they may be able to sympathise with a woman's plight, no one understands it more than another woman.
Notable mentions also have to go to the Melbourne actress who played Ruby, her unflinching guise of naivety was so organically executed, it made it hard to separate the fact from fiction. Tom McCathle and Josh Price also did a stellar job in raising the tension throughout the feature.
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