In Noémie Merlant’s insane revenge comedy, three women attempt to dispose of the body of a rapist

It’s hard to remember the last time a director prominently displayed his own vagina on screen. Statistically speaking, if they tried, most of them wouldn’t make it. But Noémie Merlant has never shied away from the opportunity to redefine the representation of female bodies in film, and the “Portrait of a Lady on Fire” star’s recent move behind the camera has highlighted her efforts to reject the male gaze Inviting their characters only encourages them to reclaim their oppressive hypersexualization on their own terms.

Needless to say, she likes to lead by example in her poisoned but delicious midnight snack in a second feature film. Playing Élise, a C-list starlet recently cast as Marilyn Monroe in a TV movie (only to then steal her boyfriend’s car and flee the set in a panic), Merlant throws herself into “The Balconettes.” ” which is dressed up to look like a cheap synonym for male desire. It’s a costume that Élise will take off over the course of the physically unrestrained and formally unleashed rape-revenge horror comedy that follows, until – at her lowest moment – the actress’s quest for an abortion leads her to the world’s most apathetic gynecologist. who instructs Élise to place her feet in the stirrups and point her body toward the audience as she waits and waits and waits to be examined.

More from IndieWire

We assume that Merlant is doing a close-up of her character’s face, but she never does. The longer she holds this clinical wide-angle shot of the doctor’s office, the less you can see anything other than the exposed folds of flesh between her legs. There’s nothing remotely sexual about it. Aside from the assault that results in Élise having an abortion (captured in a disturbingly choreographed long take that ranges from cozy affection to explicit rape), this is perhaps the least erotic moment in Merlant’s primal scream of a film, a chaotic and boisterous romp , which otherwise arouses the female body from the first moment… which may end with a middle-aged woman experiencing a pleasurable thrill as she smothers her horrible husband to death by sitting on his face. “A woman’s mystique is not a choice,” someone sighs. “It’s a punishment.” By exposing herself so nakedly in front of both the doctor and the camera, Élise forcibly strips away this mystique and gives the character the freedom to recreate her image from scratch for the rest of the film define.

And she’s not the only one. In an exceedingly unsubtle film rife with many “bad men” and zero “good men,” it’s obvious that the worst of them all is a portrait photographer with a nasty habit of staring at the beautiful models he passes through the camera considered to exploit lens of his camera. Unfortunately for Élise and her two roommates, they don’t know what kind of movie they’re in until it’s already too late to get out of it. Maybe not, because the first act of “The Balconettes” — which Merlant co-wrote with Céline Sciamma — prepares you for an Almodóvar-florid sex farce as the camera flies through the courtyard of a French suburban apartment complex at the height of the year a glowing “heat dome” before landing on the balcony of the apartment next to Élise’s apartment.

But don’t get me wrong: this movie Is An Almodóvar-florid sex farce, as you can tell from the manic energy and oppressive pastel colors, but beyond that it’s 100 different things. Most of his hilarity comes from Élise’s roommate Ruby (Souhelia Yacoub), a free-spirited camgirl with stickers on her face who enjoys sleeping with the other members of her squad when she’s not squirting for fans on her livestream. Of course, Ruby performs for her pleasure, but she does so at her own discretion and doesn’t even respond to the men shouting orders at her in the comments.

In many ways, Ruby is the exact opposite of third roommate Nicole (Sandra Codreanu), a shy and submissive author who has her novel written down to death by a group of advisors over Zoom and who, from afar, lusts after the good-looking neighbor whose photos she takes photos of Studio that she can see from her balcony. Of course, Ruby takes matters into her own hands and invites the girls to her house for what she hopes will be a sweaty, drunken flirtation. What actually happens is unclear at first, but is obviously far less innocent when, shaken, Ruby returns home the next morning, covered in the blood of her newly deceased neighbor. Then Merlant’s playful satire begins to complicate its broad humor with more serious overtones of sexual violence.

Complicate, but not replace. For all the seriousness Merlant attaches to her film’s treatment of rape, “The Balconettes” refuses to become a pompous #MeToo drama that defines its characters by the same threats they must face. On the contrary, it leans into the tonal chaos of life on Earth, creating an impressively diverse genre mix that reflects the complex reality of how women are seen in the world and how they see themselves in return.

For every sober moment, another who is just as insane by nature responds. Personal trauma gives way to the material of a panicked thriller as the three roommates attempt to dispose of the photographer’s body (a process that often descends into classic slapstick of the “we have to hide our dead neighbor’s dismembered penis in the fridge” variety). , as notes of supernatural horror eventually lead to paranormal mischief as Nicole attempts to exorcise a whole host of long-dead men (#NotAllGhosts).

Some of these modalities prove more successful than others, and “The Balconettes” almost completely loses its footing with the ghost stuff, but even Merlant’s clumsiest turns help reinforce the high-wire craziness of her larger scheme. Like Nicole, Merlant resists narrative constraints and other oppressive norms, and her eagerness to break away from them is more important to the film’s ethos—and its fundamental sense of fun—than her success at it. The flamboyant but nuanced performances she inspires from both herself and her co-stars reflect, in some ways, the same urge for freedom, and the ever-deepening sense of sisterhood that binds the housemates together is structured enough for the rest of “The Balconettes.” to surrender to the naturalness that surrounds you.

Plus, subtlety would go against everything Merlant is trying to achieve with this fed-up response to all the ways women can be made invisible. The Balconettes’ dead photographer friend might claim that he’s “trying to capture a woman’s truth,” but that’s exactly the line he utters before placing a bag over his models’ heads to frame their bodies for his pleasure. Here, in a film that is never short of surprises and allows convention to prevent it from following its own bliss, Merlant rips off that bag and suffocates him with it. That is her As a woman, she understands the truth and she shows it to us so clearly that we have not the slightest doubt about what we have before us.

Grade: B+

“The Balconettes” premiered at the 2024 Cannes Film Festival. The aim is currently for distribution in the USA.

The best of IndieWire

Sign up for Indiewire’s newsletter. For the latest news, follow us on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.