A Law Unto Themselves

Are you in the mood for a Taste of Sin. . . perhaps with a dash of Double Jeopardy. . . and what the heck even is a Prozzie (for those of you not in the know, it is slang for a prostitute). . . or, to end with the most generic and lackluster of all, meet Olivia. Every once in a while, you’ve just got to love finding a little known, underground, low budget B movie that has stayed hidden from most of the world since its release (in this case, 1983), and Olivia (which was also released under the three other titles mentioned above) fits the bill. A film that pulls a bit from Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo (you might also recognize some similarities to Marnie and Psycho), as well as from the luridly entertaining crime and thrillers coming out of Europe the decade previously (gialli and poliziotteschi), and a number of other sources, co-writer/director Ulli Lommel (who was a frequent collaborator with acclaimed Rainer Werner Fassbinder), introduces us to poor Olivia (Suzanna Love as an adult; as a five year old – Amy Robinson), a young woman who has been dealt a poor hand in life. Growing up with her prostitute mother overlooking London bridge, she witnesses her mom’s demise at the hands of a sadistic American soldier (Nicholas Love). . . flash forward fifteen years, and she has found her way into the arms of the first brute she bumps into, Richard (Jeff Winchester) – already four years married to the uncouth, violent factory worker.

Ryan Gosling’s first, and to date, only writing and directing credit, 2014's Lost River is by no means a film for everyone. . . an arthouse style dark fairytale with tinges of gialli violence and colour, the actor turned filmmaker sets in place a slow, unsettling mood that will either hold you in its oppressive grip, or might just leave you up the creek without a paddle. The title a reference to the town in which we are dropped into, it is like much of smaller town America (and some of larger city America as well – it is actually filmed in Detroit), a crumbling locale where many young folks have fled, businesses sit empty, roving gangs of hoodlums burn houses for the fun of it, and everyone lives in a dystopic-like fugue state of depressed apathy.

Every once in a while, a scene, or to break it down even further, a moment, forever captures the zeitgeist of the cinema world. . . more long lasting and memorable than the movie ever could be. By now, you may have already guessed that I am talking about the breezy subway grate blowing up Marilyn Monroe’s flowy white dress (cooling her down on a hot summer’s night) in The Seven Year Itch (1955). Funnily enough, the press generated from the scene’s filming in New York City (the excitement of over five thousand fans watching them shoot and then spreading the word. . .along with the risqué-for-the-time photographs that circulated around the world) brought people into theatres to experience a moment that could never truly match up with what was broadcast. . . for the Hays code would never allow the revealing extent shown before the release to be seen on screen – though that is not to say that it is still not a fabulous clip. . . and I’m here to also say, so is the film.

Like watching a magician shuffle a deck of cards (including jokers) into perfect numerical order, director John Crowley (Brooklyn) takes Mark O’Rowe’s screenplay, which consists of a whopping fifty-four characters (hence the jokers) and eleven separate storylines, weaving them together in wholly interesting ways to make Intermission (2003). What is it about Irish screenwriters that gives them the ability to build these complex stories in clever ways? I really don’t have an answer, but like the works of brothers Martin and John Michael McDonagh, there is a unique essence in this narrative that avoids tropes, Crowley intersecting all of O’Rowe’s stories in an impressive way.