52 Films by Women Vol 8. 37. Blink Twice (Director: Zoë Kravitz)
What is the deal
with a private island? Does someone even have the right to sell an entire
landmass? How much of the surrounding ocean count as the owner’s waters, for
fishing and such? Don’t they have an obligation to provide basic services, not
just for guests but their staff as well?
These were some of
the questions that occurred to me after watching Blink Twice, an American
takedown of toxic masculinity written (with E.T. Feigenbaum) and directed by actress-turned-director
Zoë Kravitz. However, these are not the questions that interest her. Kravitz
focusses on one: how can men get away with abusing women? She looks at what
gives them licence, the enablers. Wealth is one. Bullied women living their
worst life is another. There’s a third, a tool of the trade. You can guess it.
The film exploits a
stereotype: that tech billionaires are morally dubious. This past summer, we’ve
seen the owner of one social media brand allow it to spread disinformation, to
become a haven for the wit deprived. In Kravitz’s film, the billionaire is
Slater King (Channing Tatum) a circle-bearded entrepreneur with two last names.
Who calls their kid Slater? He was forced (by his public relations advisor) to
apologise for an unspecified misdemeanour, which he writes down as a lapse for
which he has sought medical help. We meet his psychiatrist, played by a guy who
was in Showgirls (Kyle MacLachlan). This prompts another
question: can you buy medical qualifications in the States?
As with many
billionaires on a redemptive arc, Slater has become a philanthropist, or at
least a guy who provides opportunities. In this case, he invites a cocktail
waitress, Frida (Naomi Ackie, most recently seen as Whitney Houston in the
biopic, I Wanna Dance With
Somebody) and her best friend
Jess (Alia Shawkat, from Animals) to join him on the aforementioned private
island with his male friends, the brains trust of his company (perhaps) and
some assorted women who appear to be wealth adjacent but with one thing in
common - they all fit the white dresses assigned to them on the island.
When we first meet
her in the bathroom of her apartment, Frida has decided to misuse her rent
money, to put it all on red, the red dress that she has stuffed in a bag for an
event she is working as a frontline refreshment service provider – or, if you
prefer, a waitress. She’s late for work but not all bad, she bought a blue
dress for her flatmate and colleague, Jess (Alia Shawkat). Why doesn’t Jess get
the red dress? Frida knows her own value. Not only does she have a dress but a
plan. After servicing Slater and his guests at an exclusive corporate event,
Frida quickly changes into her dress and encourages Jess to do the same, and is
able to blend in, healthy skin being a great leveller. Then, when the private
area is seemingly inaccessible, Frida goes for broke, or rather breaks a heel
as she falls forward taking some glassware with her. Looking up, who does she
but a tuxedo figure with a kind face offering a stabilising arm. It’s Slater,
more charismatic in person than he is in his apology press videos. His eyes
seem permanently fixed on her as if moving them away would be impolite. He’s
not a people person, rather a person person. He breaks off her other heel,
adding ‘I saw it in a movie once.’
Why does an
individual from a humble background cultivate the attention of a
multi-billionaire? It’s the Debbie McGee question (adding a few noughts). The
answer is: what have you got to lose? But as she discovers, it’s a lot.
As shown in the
movie, billionaires live life in a blur, as opposed to an Oasis, though they
can afford to buy Ticketmaster, the service that has made so many UK Gallagher
brothers-fans miserable at time of writing. Frida is quickly introduced to
Slater’s entourage, played by actors who haven’t appeared in a mainstream film
for a while (Christian Slater, Haley Joel Osment) or at all (Levon Hawke, the
son of Ethan Hawke and Uma Thurman). Simon Rex, the star of Red Rocket is also in the cast. The biggest reveal is
1980s-and-1990s star Geena Davis in a supporting comedy role as Stacy, Slater’s
flustered but sometimes competent assistant, who in an early scene drops a
stack of red cardboard gift bags. ‘Don’t help her,’ Slater tells Frida, a
request that comes to have extra resonance. Frida is plied with drinks, is able
to summon Jess into the special area and marvel at her own proximity to the
privileged 1%.
Just when Frida
thinks she and Jess have been left behind, Slater being hustled away by staff
who know his schedule better than he claims to, he returns to invite them to
join him. Frida and Jess find themselves on a private jet, which has a non-stop
libation service to King Island. They can barely contain themselves.
Shown to their
rooms, they are encouraged to freshen up. Frida finds a single red eyeliner
case in an otherwise empty drawer which has seen better days. She also finds a
white dress that fits her exactly. Joining others at the pool appears to be
obligatory.
Kravitz’s style is
to keep scenes – and moments – brief. Blink and you’ll miss something. The film
opens with green light and a creature coming into focus, some sort of lizard. A
yellow snake features prominently, with Jess being bitten at one point. ‘It
won’t kill you,’ she is told, ‘but it’s poisonous, sure’. Kravitz takes her cue
from lightbulb flashes from a Polaroid camera, the title card flashed in front
of us, randomly.. Every guest is required to hand over their mobile phone,
which Stacy collects in a bag – moment of competence. The only pictures that
are taken are polaroid ones. Faces are snapped constantly. A yellow cigarette
lighter with a smiley face on it is passed around between the women like a
marijuana joint. A knife goes missing. Glasses are constantly refilled. Life is
one long party with no carriages at midnight. We see the women in white dresses
running, scattering. What we don’t see – for a long time – is a consequential
event. The film is tonally repetitive, deliberately so. Kravitz unsettles us
and doesn’t foreground many clues.
When Frida is
surprised by a maid (Maria Elena Olivares), the older woman says something to
her. Neither Frida nor we can make it out. The maid’s pleasant expression
drops. Frida’s nails are admired by Slater. They are ‘a-nail-mals’ – creatures
in blue painted on each finger. This becomes significant. There is perfume that
Frida is invited to wear and meals catered by an accomplished chef. Frida
discovers that Slater doesn’t eat red meat and returns her cut to the joint at
the centre of the table.
There are drugs – of
course. Drips of blue liquid on Frida’s tongue. There is also a mystery. Blood
from the red meat left a mark on Frida’s dress. When she looks down later, it
has disappeared.
Early in the film, Frida
and Slater discuss therapy. Frida doesn’t believe in it, or rather that it is an
effective way of treating trauma. Forgetting appears to be the better response.
In one night scene,
music plays and Kravitz and her cinematographer, Adam Newport-Berra, treat us
to a oner, a single take in which the camera swirls around the cast. At the end
of this sequence, we get our biggest indication that something isn’t right.
Kravitz makes two
impactful judgment calls. First, when unpleasant behaviour is suggested, we see
it in a flashback in a non-explicit way so that the depiction of distress isn’t
pornographic; Kravitz doesn’t create suspense. Second, when there is violence
on screen, it is retributive and blackly funny – a corkscrew in the hand, a
pinkie finger bitten off. The film itself is stylistically a hybrid of Jordan
Peele’s Get Out and Coralie Fargeat’s Revenge. The climax has snap. There is a surprise as we discover what ‘red
rabbit’ means.
Tatum has rarely been
cast as a malevolent force (Haywire is an exception) and has a powerful scene in
which he apologises, weaponizing the phrase ‘I’m sorry’, turning it into an
angry chant. Slater justifies himself, albeit elliptically. (‘My sister said to
me, ‘how could I still hang out with him after what he did to us?’) The film
offers a truth, that after causing significant harm, an apology is never
enough, nor even sincerely meant. It is a performance, not a turning point.
Disingenuousness is common currency.
Davis has a terrific
moment when Frida shatters Stacy’s pill-popping façade; you can feel the logic
of her behaviour and the spiral that Stacy is trapped in. Frida gets a laugh
with her response, but some residual audience sympathy goes Stacy’s way.
We aren’t invited to
like the celebrity supporting cast too much – Osment wearing upside down heart
shaped sunglasses, Christian Slater lounging in drawling repose. Kravitz puts
James Brown on the soundtrack, but not ‘It’s a Man’s World’.
Pictured: Party for the right to fight. Frida (Naomi Ackie) and Sarah (Adria Arjona) in a scene from the luxury-island thriller, directed by Zoë Kravitz who co-wrote the screenplay with E.T. Feigenbaum. Still courtesy of Amazon-MGM Studios (US), Warner Bros. (UK)
Along with Ackie,
Adria Arjona makes a strong impression as Sarah, one of the guests who suddenly
remembers. Sarah and Frida dance on the table as a means by which they escape
what passes for evening’s entertainment. Arjona delivers a feisty kick in one
scene. She reminded me of Alicia Vikander. If they are looking for a third
actress to play Lara Croft, Arjona would be excellent casting.
In one scene, Frida
attempts to eat the fruit garnish – a frozen strawberry – in her drink. She
spits it out and almost chokes. Snake venom liqueur and vodka provide wake-up
calls.
For most of its
length, Blink Twice is unsettling rather than intense, before
laying on the horror comedy at the climax. In her apartment bathroom, Frida has
a copy of the book ‘Success is the Best Revenge’ (the title of a Jerzy
Skolomowski film starring Jeremy Irons) which she turns into her mantra. The
very end shows this in action.
Reviewed at Cineworld
Leicester Square, Screen One, Central London. Friday 30 August 2024, 17:40
screening
Comments
Post a Comment