There ’s a lot that ’s unique about Ana Lily Amirpour ’s striking new filmA Girl walk nursing home Alone at Night . This will likely be cinema ’s only black - and - lily-white feminist westerly lamia flick , shot in a California shade town but with all dialogue in Farsi … unless Amirpour decides to make a sequel .
But as singular as this toppingly moody indie is , its references are also conversant , call back early bloodsuckers who ’ve invade the artistic production - house realm . There ’s more than a hint of Jim Jarmusch in its elegantly - shoot probe of living on the fringes — A Girl would make a stellar double feature with Jarmusch ’s own subversive , post - horror vampire tarradiddle , Only buff Left Alive . A Girl also echo Michael Almereyda ’s Nadja , another black - and - white entry with a distaff lead and deadpan performances . ( And all three have killer soundtracks . )
Only A Girl , however , gas star Sheila Vand and her thousand - pace , thousand - twelvemonth - honest-to-god stare . “ The Girl , ” as she ’s called in the course credit , prowls dried - up desert burg Bad City wear down a chador that not - coincidentally resembles a ness , and lip rouge thick as war paint , feed on man whom nobody will ever pretermit . ( To that death , another double - feature idea : Under the Skin . )
After take down the local trail suit - wearing , two - bit mobster , Saeed ( Dominic Rains ) , the Girl encounters Arash ( Arash Marandi ) , who dress like James Dean and drive a angelical vintage gondola , but is unhappily tasked with taking upkeep of his junkie father — a risk taker whose debt are erased as shortly as the Girl plunges her fangs into Saeed ’s pharynx .
sexual love , or something resembling it , seems inevitable , especially when the duad meets again as Arash is stumbling home ( alone at night ) from a costume political party , wearing his own mantle and fang . “ I ’m Dracula , but do n’t worry — I wo n’t offend you , ” he slurs , and neither does she hurt him . Instead , she settles him on her skateboard ( yeah , by the room , she also skates ) and roll him back to her poster - bedecked cellar den , a circumstance that talk to the sly , pop music culture - attune humor that scent through Amirpour ’s script . Why would n’t a lamia like “ True Blue”-era Madonna , or take heed to Lionel Richie ?
The pair ’s uneasy alliance is complicated by Arash ’s troubled home liveliness and the Girl ’s supernatural status , but the spark between them are undeniable . But there ’s concern to see to first ; another probability encounter , between the wordlessly stalking Girl and Bad City ’s nonmigratory prostitute — every frontier townsfolk has one — who are also unlikely kindred spirits . “ You ’re sad . You do n’t recollect what you want , ” the Girl enounce , mouth as much about herself as she is the other char . Both cleaning woman are trapped in life they feel they ca n’t shift , at least without making a major sacrifice .
Though one gets the very unmortgaged sensation that the Girl does n’t need a gentleman’s gentleman to survive — a cultural rule that gets a whack early on , thanks to an Iranian tv set public lecture - show master of ceremonies counseling women who ’ve lost their hubby and , presumptively , their self - worth — she surprise herself by warm up to Arash . A stem emerges : the with child repugnance is loneliness , for humans and vampires alike . But it ’s never certain where this dreamy write up is heading , and that ’s part of its trance . Amirpour makes indisputable ambiguity reigns , keep dialogue to a bare minimum and allowing Vand ’s expressive human face , which shifts from mournful masquerade party to timidly pleased grin to sanguinary passion with liquid ease , to take the focus .
feminismHorrorIranVampires
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