Long time no see. Despite the best of intentions, it’s been a little while since I posted. Like everyone in lockdown, my motivation has been wavering and I started to feel like I sucked at everything, so posting wasn’t exactly a priority. Whether it’s imposter syndrome or a moment of realisation that I am in fact a terrible writer, I enjoy doing it – so I’ve given myself a kick up the arse to continue.
My mental health hasn’t been great lately, but thankfully after employing some very unhealthy coping strategies (excessive wine and impulsive spending), I can say I’m feeling a lot better.
I have watched a lot over the last few weeks thanks to Shudder, Soho Horror Fest and my lovely postman who delivered a pile of DVDs, but as it’s Wednesday, I thought I’d start with a favourite of mine that I revisited recently.
A Girl Walks Home Alone At Night
Director : Ana Lily Amirpour
Director Ana Lily Amirpour describes A Girl Walks Home Alone At Night as ‘the first Iranian vampire spaghetti western’, which sums up the vibe pretty well, if you add in a hint of film noir.
Set in the fictional Iranian town of ‘Bad City’, the dialogue throughout is entirely in Farsi. Whilst described as a Persian/Iranian film, it features a number of elements deemed controversial (or downright illegal) within the country itself and so you may not be surprised to learn that it was actually shot in California.
Without being overtly political, the subtle inclusion of drugs and alcohol, nudity and LGBT expression which take place predominately behind closed doors, is a powerful narrative of the Iran hidden in the shadows, free of government censorship.
One of the girls (arguably deserving) victims – a drug dealer with a striking resemblance to Die Antwoord’s Ninja – walks comfortably around Bad City with a number of visible tattoos, seemingly with no fear of repercussions for doing so, and he isn’t the only character that seems somewhat out of place for a film set in such a conservative country. Throughout the film there are a few scenes including a character noted only in the credits as ‘Rockabilly’, who is a silent witness to the events taking place in the city. Whilst such scenes are fleeting, it speaks volumes that the LGBT character is silent, but present, much like the LGBT community in the country itself.
The girl herself is depicted almost as two sides of the same coin. At home, she could be any other girl in the world. Her bedroom is covered in posters and she dances to music with a freedom that she is unable to experience in public, before putting on her Chador and venturing into the night to seek her prey. This duality and internal struggle of trying to reconcile the two is an interesting theme, perhaps hinting at the directors own Iranian/American heritage.
Whilst the Chador is common traditional dress in Iran, the intense contrast and use of shadow gives it an almost sinister vibe, a likely intentional statement. And though mythology commonly depicts vampires as mysterious, supernatural beings who can transform into bats to swoop into the night – the girl chooses a more practical method of transport and gracefully glides along the dark streets on a skateboard. She preys predominately on morally reprehensible characters, hinting a sense of guilt over her blood lust. Despite her nature, underneath her Chador she is indistinguishable from anyone else – distinctly normal.
The title of the film itself clearly subverts expectations as the girl displays little in the way of physical vulnerability, but as a female she is routinely underestimated and undermined. In a sweet scene the kind hearted Arash, dressed in a cheap Dracula outfit, envelops her in his cloak to shield her from the cold. Whilst well intentioned, the assumption is that the girl is a fragile creature to be protected. It is not until the end of the film that Arash seems to realise her true nature – that she is not a timid and delicate flower but instead a strong, self sufficient woman.
