As part of HOME’s ‘Celebrating Women In Global Cinema’ season, we were treated to a rare screening of Jane Campion’s debut feature, Sweetie. The screening was introduced by Professor Jackie Stacey who offered interesting insight into the film, drawing attention to the film’s themes and aesthetic choices.
Sweetie is the tale of Kay (Karen Colston), an introverted rather neurotic young woman who embarks upon a relationship with her co-worker Louis (Tom Lycos) because she believes that they are destined to be together based upon a reading of tea leaves. Their relationship soon becomes rather cold due to Kay’s neurotic preoccupations and Louis’s fecklessness. Their increasingly loveless relationship is put under more strain when Kay’s sister ‘Sweetie’ arrives with her deadbeat boyfriend. We quickly learn that Sweetie’s mental health is disruptive to all who encounter her and when Kay’s recently separated father arrives, the family history is slowly laid bare.
Sweetie is a problematic film for any viewer. The introduction by Professor Jackie Stacy was invaluable in offering insight into Campion’s attempts to ape the stylistic tropes and surrealist paranoia of David Lynch, so I had something to cling to when the narrative & pace floundered, but I can’t imagine casual viewers maintaining patience with the film. One of the biggest problems lies in the central performances of Colston and Lycos as the loveless couple. Their emotionally barren characterisation carries through to their vocal performance and dead-eyed facial expressions, which when Colston is finally permitted to express real emotion in one fleeting argument, suggests Campion was yet to master her ability to wrestle Oscar worthy performances from her cast and was instead holding back the leads in an attempt at some stylisation, which just doesn’t work. The film is littered with poor acting. Campion’s emphasis on style also risks intruding upon the narrative flow, as countless transitions are abrupt elliptical cuts, thrusting us forward to the next episode like we’re at the mercy of an impatient teen who has hogged the remote and is skipping a DVD by chapters ‘to get to the good bits’. Some of the aesthetics work, like the tendency to place characters against the side of the frame in acute camera angles, as though no-one really fits in to these environments, but the excessive preoccupation with feet and floor-mounted cameras is distracting, rather than meaningful. Finally, my criticism must be aimed at Campion’s intention to infuse the film with Lynchian mood and style, because Sweetie bears many of the characteristics of a David Lynch film, yet somehow is devoid of any of his dreamy surrealism, humour or lucid nightmare paranoia.
So as I write this review, with so many criticisms in so many significant areas of the film, I ask myself why I can’t bring myself to say that I hated this film. There is, underneath the unsuccessful ideas and techniques of filmmaker learning their craft so early in their career, a very strong story with interesting things to say about families. Campion weaves a tale that slowly unfolds for the viewer, at first revealing the roots of Kay’s damaged childhood, and then of Sweetie’s, before finally revealing that the parents were intrinsic in the rifts that have formed between everyone. The recurring motif of trees, with roots damaging foundations, diseased leaves and decaying branches is excellent iconography (though perhaps undone by Campion’s screenplay patronisingly explaining it in voiceover), which acts as a perfect metaphor for family. The depiction of women in various moods from animalistic, meek, strong and emotionally vulnerable is very engaging, whilst their arcs are believable. The narrative reveals so much of the past whilst maintaining a forward momentum, that captivates throughout.
Sweetie offers a memorable evocation of a family that cannot escape from one another, terrorised by a monster of their own creation and, like Frankenstein’s Adam is itself traumatised by its own monstrosity. Campion would go on to direct more complete films, which elicit much stronger performances and have much more clarity in the overall vision, but Sweetie sees Campion’s themes emerging, from depicting women at the mercy of patriarchal expectations to introverted but complex female leads. As the final scene faded to black and we left behind the sibling trauma of Kay and Sweetie’s abusive relationship, I gasped in horror at the director’s dedication ‘For my sister’. Wow! If Jane Campion is dedicating this depiction of sisterhood to her own sister, I would advise against attending family get togethers at the Campion household.
Reviewer - Ben Hassouna-Smith
on - 16/9/19
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