In Fabric (2019)

Score: 4 / 5

I'm sure they're out there -- maybe even from this director -- but I haven't seen a real giallo movie in ages. At least, not a new one. But Peter Strickland's In Fabric is a masterpiece from another era, a smart, stylish, sumptuous sensual feast straight out of the '70s. Plot is more or less negligible, as in the best of the genre, and its more outlandish elements effectively feed its delivery: namely, the bright colors, synthesized music, and heightened sexuality/brutality that is giallo horror. Oh, and did I mention the fetishized red dress that is the villain?

We begin with a series of advertisements for a bourgeois department store before we are suddenly introduced to Sheila (a transformed, almost unrecognizable Marianne Jean-Baptiste), a recent divorcee living with her son, Vince. Vince is a mooching art student who dates intimidating, rude girls and has lots of loud sex, while Sheila is trying to date and manages to catch only losers like her unfortunately named would-be paramour Adonis. And Sheila's domestic troubles pair poorly with her work life; her bank is a darkly funny hostile environment in which she's constantly called in to the bosses' office for warnings. They count and time her trips to the restroom, criticize her handshake and demeanor, and even try to build camaraderie whilst interrogating her professional performance (she's black, the men are white, and yet one proudly proclaims a random stranger to be racist to, seemingly, appear the "good guy" in comparison).

Desperate for a change of pace, Sheila enacts the classic fairytale moment and makes a choice. A new, risque dress will do the trick to spice up her dating life, right? She visits the much-advertised department store -- replete with managers and clerks who are clearly in some kind of witchy cult, though no characters seem to notice -- and selects a one-of-a-kind sex dress. Well, sexy for the 1982 setting, meaning "artery red", long-sleeved but with a modestly plunging neckline, knee-length and with a single, deadly black rose at the waist. It doesn't take long for the dress to, well, take on a bit of night life of its own. And by the second half of the movie, its life drastically changes the format, function, and focus of the story, casting Shelia aside and embracing another character altogether; I wondered briefly if this would be an anthology film or if perhaps this would make a better miniseries than single movie.

But before you start rolling your eyes about a killer dress -- or, that is, a dress that kills -- be aware that this movie's supernatural elements are never explained away. This is no plot-thick, action-packed slasher movie like those iconic works of Dario Argento or Mario Bava. This is pure atmosphere, often more sensational and bizarre than literal, and the movie works hard to put you into a sensual awareness of beauty and its dangers. You could read a lot into this movie, and it darkly comments on consumerism, capitalism, fetishism, and of course the troubles of working-class women. It's also about salesmanship, deception, seduction, forbidden desires, and the cost of getting what we want. But, then, it's also about a coven of witches who sell dresses and enact sexual fantasies with mannequins.

So take it for what you will. I liked it for style, art, and its stinging mix of horror with humor. I also like its ballsy premise, almost as if writer and director Peter Strickland were daring us to challenge his power to deliver a movie that asks us to buy into a killer dress and then, moreover, to end up kind of rooting for the dress by the end.

Welcome to Marwen (2018)

Score: 3 / 5

I really think this movie would have worked better had it not given away its entire story and spectacle in marketing.

Robert Zemeckis does his typically brilliant directorial work in visualizing the story of Mark Hogancamp (played by Steve Carell), an artist who was brutally attacked by five men and left with severe PTSD and precious few memories. As he cannot draw anymore, he creates a small town of miniatures and photographs them as his therapeutic practice, calling the town Marwen. Its citizenship of dolls share uncanny likenesses to people in Mark's life, though the town is set in Belgium during WWII. Mark's artistic successes belie a man attempting to cope with debilitating pain and disorientation, but the film depicts his journey to a sort of self-actualization when he can finally stand up for himself and function in society again.

There's a lot going on in this picture that we could spend hours discussing. Mark's identity as a cross-dresser, for example, is curiously specific yet largely unexplored by the film, which never uses terminology beyond his attempt to get close to women's "essence". The men who attack him repeatedly call him "queer", and the women he develops intimate relationships with befriend him with great kindness and sincerity; one, though, perhaps thinks he's gay until he proposes to her. It's a fascinating dynamic that is never fully realized; then again, this might be a fabulously non-judgmental portrayal of transvestism that is almost never seen on screen.

Too, we might analyze the questionably feminist tendencies of the film. The cast of mostly women are wonderfully diverse, in ethnicity and culture as well as personality and performance of womanhood. All are strong, though, and their love for Mark is infectious. His love for them, though, is occasionally questionable, and Zemeckis's focus on their bodies (especially breasts and shoes) arguably serves to fetishize their bodies. It's not incompatible with Mark's fixations -- we see him enjoying pornography, his collection of 280+ women's shoes, and miniature scenes of an often erotic nature -- but create an ambiguous tone that battles between the male gaze and the dialogue and themes, which repeatedly praise empowered women.

And while these elements are worthy of discussion, they are also largely matters of lenses and preference. The film as a whole is a mess of such lenses, and we're lurched between what could (and probably should) be an ensemble drama and what is, in fact, an intensely personal character study. Mark battles drug addiction and antisocial tendencies, incarnated by one of his dolls named Deja, a witch whose turquoise color she shares with Mark's pills and whose jealousy of other women keeps Mark perpetually alone. The climax of the film comes when he vanquishes her, letting her disappear in a time machine he built (that is basically the DeLorean time machine, thank you Zemeckis) and washing his pills down the drain. He attends the sentencing of his attackers and proclaims that he'll "be okay," aiming for a future of reality more than fantasy.

Speaking of which, the real joys of the film come from the astounding visual magic when his dolls come to life. Their little adventures weave seamlessly into and out of Mark's life (though the film itself is not seamless, their integration is a thing of wonder), making our experience of him something between reality and fantasy, much as Mark experiences life. As they kick Nazi ass -- another element worthy of hearty discussion, elsewhere -- they help him make decisions and make sense of his own tragedy.

There's a lot to admire here, if you can stay on track with a meandering screenplay and a strong split between narrative focal points.

IMDb: Welcome to Marwen