Director Francis Lee attempts to explore the rawness of human connection in this British costume drama based on the life of historical figure Mary Anning, in a film that ends up falling just a little bit short of winning our hearts. Ammonite’s enticing cast and bold narrative themes meant that the groundwork for a deep love story was definitely there, its execution just failed to seize the intimacy and emotion that resided in its potential.
A beach cast in ashy hues of grey and blue is the birthplace of discovery for fossil hunter Mary Anning (Kate Winslet). Set in the 1840s, she spends her days treading the rocks of Lyme Regis, with nothing but the wailing gales, tumbling waves and her mother, Molly (Gemma Jones), for company. She lives a solitary life pursuing palaeontology, but the sexism that plagues the industry expels Mary into the mundanity of selling seashell-encrusted trinkets to tourists.
When Roderick Murchison (James McArdle) arrives unannounced requesting to work alongside Mary and enrich his fossil hunting experience, she begrudgingly agrees knowing the disturbance this will bring to her gloomy yet contented life, imbued with routine and order. However, it is not the presence of Roderick that breaks the peace, it is his wife Charlotte (Saoirse Ronan).
Charlotte and Roderick’s relationship is void of intimacy. His controlling, abusive and oppressive manner sucks the life out of her. She is presented to us like an empty shell, much like the ones Mary collects and half-heartedly glues onto mirrors and jewellery boxes. Skin like paper and glassy-eyed, Charlotte is suffering from “a mild melancholia” according to Roderick, so he suggests that she stay with Mary in Lyme Regis as a form of therapy, the sea air her medicine and Mary her life support. The motif of fossils is used to represent Mary’s overdue unearthing of lesbian identity, buried by societal taboo and untold history.
Lee is no stranger to portraying queer love stories, with his debut God’s Own Country (2017) delving into male homosexuality with poignancy and sensitivity. This time, Ammonite’s two exceptional leads are what elevate the otherwise lacking story. Ronan plays Charlotte with a lovable grace; our hearts ache at her lows and soar at her highs. Winslet is unrecognisable as Mary, one which will likely be viewed as the best in her career. We can relate to her character even though her story is so detached from our realities, and understand her with very little dialogue.
It would be expected that two brilliant performances would make for an impactful chemistry. However, there is an air of unbelievability to the pair’s dynamic. Their romance is like a wave crashing to the shore, slow-building and over all too quickly. It felt like the narrative was rushed as the physical side of their relationship didn’t appear until halfway through the film; the build-up was certainly there but it can only go so far as a form of storytelling.
At times, the choreography of homoeroticism seems to feed into an unrealistic portrayal of female pleasure. If more time was devoted to the women growing to understand each other’s bodies and letting us linger in the intimacy, their chemistry would have felt more authentic.
Ammonite’s devotion to exploring the beauty of human connection makes erotic display all the more fundamental and it’s a shame it didn’t have the same impact as other scenes. Idyllic shots of iridescence as the pair frolic in the ocean depicts one of the rare instances where the colour palette warms and Mary’s face does too. Ammonite could have benefitted from more scenes like this, giving the sex scenes more of an emotional purpose, and moving away from voyeurism and closer to meaning.
The buzz around this film was partly due to it baring similarities to Céline Sciamma’s Portrait of a Lady on Fire released earlier this year. Although this conjured excitement, it may also have led to Ammonite’s downfall. Intimacy is something Sciamma depicts beautifully within a sensory experience, and although Lee tries to explore this using a similar technique, it doesn’t quite create the same immersion due to the importance he places on guesswork and tension. Yet both films effectively use a lack of dialogue to pay homage to a history of people forced to repress their sexuality and hide their stories. Living in silence, but still living nonetheless.
In this light, Mary Anning was a real palaeontologist and her sexuality remains ambiguous. There is no proof that she shared such a relationship with real-life geologist Charlotte Murchison but creative treatment is a wonderful thing. Using Mary’s story as a vessel for a homosexual romance between two interesting and intelligent women, set during a time when this would have been taboo, remains important for queer representation.
Ammonite is an example of a film’s on-screen talent upstaging the narrative. Without Winslet and Ronan dedicating themselves to the roles, the film would sadly be painfully average. Lee’s thought-provoking characters promise a crucial journey of discovery but its fixation on build-up and lack of affection stands in the way of us truly falling in love with the union. In the same way Mary digs through pebbles and mud to find something of significance, Ammonite needed to dig a little deeper.
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<pre>Photo Credit: Ammonite </pre>

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Kate Winslet and Saoirse Ronan put on a great performance in Ammonite, but their love story lacks intimacy.

Ammonite: A Stony Forbidden Love

* Contains mild spoilers
During a period of bleak uncertainty, where life as we know it is transforming into a kind of dystopian horror, Spanish director Galder Gaztelu-Urrutia does not seek to offer a comforting hand – but instead holds up a mirror to our society of greed. I am referring to his recent thriller The Platform, added to Netflix at the beginning of March this year, where Gaztelu-Urrutia delivers a sickening commentary on class structure and mankind’s insatiable appetite in this horror feast.
When our lead character, Goreng (Ivan Massagué) wakes up to find himself in a vertical prison of incalculable levels, he is horrified to discover the only form of nourishment is an extravagant banquet, travelling down the tower of two-person cells on a platform. The horror derives from the concept of equal distribution, seemingly non-existent within these concrete walls, as the prisoners on the upper levels indulge leaving the victims of the lower levels to starve. Goreng hopes to change the injustice that permeates the prison, but soon discovers that our selfish instincts are a lot harder to tame than he expected.
Gaztelu-Urrutia’s concept is a disturbing illustration of class structure for the senses and certainly entices audiences to question the morality of such practices. Its premise is, of course, bizarre and barbaric but also incredibly accurate. A fundamental flaw of the universal class system is its entitlement, mirrored perfectly by Gaztelu-Urrutia’s storytelling, as this prison’s occupants do not earn their place at the highest level but are merely placed there. Those at the top behave with hostility and have little respect for those below them, their gluttony draining the food from the platform and their contempt showering the remaining scraps with their own bodily fluids. This metaphor carries a horrifying depiction of a reality steeped in classism and unjust privilege.
Writers David Desola and Pedro Rivero make certain we understand the important messages which echo our current civilisation with their ‘matter of fact’ scriptwriting. The moral of the film is encapsulated entirely in one particular piece of dialogue when Goreng’s fellow inmate Imoguiri (Antonia San Juan) states, “if everybody ate only what they needed, the food would get to the lowest level.” This allegory is about as subtle as a brick through a window, and in fact arrives like a perfect accident, as the film was in development long before the <a href="https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/home-news/coronavirus-food-bank-stockpile-panic-buying-donations-uk-cases-outbreak-a9393201.html">stockpiling</a> and <a href="https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/the-science-behind-behavior/202003/why-are-we-panic-buying-during-the-coronavirus-pandemic">panic buying</a> that hit the UK in March during the escalation of the coronavirus pandemic, illustrating that the world needs to listen to these lessons now more than ever.
The fact the themes of the film are in plain sight points to cinema’s freedom to address issues that many choose to turn a blind eye to. Although the script could have benefitted from more subtlety in order to encourage moral contemplation, The Platform’s lack of restraint holds our attention and lends itself perfectly to Netflix. Gaztelu-Urrutia uses this film as a soapbox at a time when society is fixed in its traditional class structure. Gaztelu-Urrutia excels in providing a clear and frank visualisation of our own selfishness. The nauseating visuals and stomach-turning sound design are enough to make audiences think twice about stockpiling food, as they will lose their appetite within the first five minutes of the film. This caricature of the survival instinct uncomfortably displays the type of class entitlement we see every day on the news.
The film’s messages aren’t the only thing lacking subtlety in this fever dream thriller. Gaztelu-Urrutia and his crew effectively convey anxiety and dread through a claustrophobic set design and invasive cinematography. One of the most striking attributes is the film’s dramatic lighting changes, where at times we are engulfed in a sea of red, reminiscent of the Italian Giallo horror which seeks to conjure feelings of unease and paranoia through its colour palette. The theme of decay is also made prevalent through other aesthetic choices, the many close-ups of food that feature throughout alluding to abandoned war zones and decomposing landscapes, illustrating the repercussions of our own self-interest. Even shots of life are muted with a dull hue, as a close-up of Goreng’s eye at the very beginning of the film hints at a loss of spirit in its lack of colour and depth. The Platform’s attention to detail achieves multiple atmospheres and spaces while being restricted to the same four walls. The cast, particularly Massagué and Zorion Eguileor, seem anything but trapped, as their performances are powerful and their chemistry palpable.
Without giving too much away, The Platform’s conclusion probably asks more questions than it answers. Although it gives audiences the freedom of interpretation it also seems a lacklustre ending to an intense narrative. No one could accuse the ending of being predictable, but it is not fully satisfying and left me feeling hungry for more. It seems Gaztelu-Urrutia sends a message that is not quite as bleak, hinting at a chance of redemption for humanity and providing a portal to a less hostile and selfish world, if only its citizens can find the key to unlock it.
The Platform perfectly utilises sensory horror and explicit gore to communicate its all too relevant messages. It projects an ugly side of humanity, leaving it to rot on screen, until it leaves a bad taste in your mouth. This is until the film’s conclusion where audiences are given the freedom to write their own ending. At such a desperate point in history, we need to see this film as a turning point for our attitudes towards class, privilege and entitlement, and remedy the problems they cause through mutual kindness and respect for one another, regardless of the level we find ourselves on.
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<pre>Photo Credit: The Platform film / Netflix</pre>

The Platform Film

Netflix horror &#8216;The Platform&#8217; directed by Galder Gaztelu-Urrutia shows us the ugly face of class and capitalism.

The Platform Film: A Feast of Greed and Privilege

*Contains spoilers
Greta Gerwig hasn’t shied away from female storytelling in the past, with her Golden Globe winner Lady Bird touching our hearts back in 2017. So, naturally, when her adaptation of Louisa May Alcott’s 19th-century classic Little Women (1868-9) was announced there was no other filmmaker deemed more appropriate to take on this project. With a female-centric narrative and a variety of strong female leads, Gerwig – a female filmmaker giving a big “f*ck you” to a predominantly straight white male industry – hit the ground running with this fresh literary adaption.
This is a film that pays homage to Alcott and takes inspiration from her writing:
&#8220;I just feel like… women, they have minds, and they have souls, as well as just hearts, and they’ve got ambition and they’ve got talent, as well as just beauty, and I’m so sick of people saying that love is just all a woman is fit for. I’m so sick of it. But I’m so… I’m so lonely.&#8221;
This plea by protagonist Jo March (Saoirse Ronan) is one of the most heart-breaking moments of the film, in a scene which was especially poignant for me because it exemplifies the female voices that carry the power of words. Gerwig’s scriptwriting and Ronan’s performance allow audiences to sit within that dialogue and contemplate. It is truly mesmerising. These words really hit home for me – I’ve never heard such an accurate portrayal of what it means to be a woman, spoken so eloquently and yet with so much pain.
What is so interesting about this quote is that it is not from Alcott’s Little Women, but it is in fact from one of her later books titled Rose in Bloom (1875). By bringing our attention to Alcott’s lesser known work, we know that Gerwig doesn’t want to just flippantly recreate what has been done before, she listens and aims to inject an authenticity into the story that we didn’t know existed elsewhere.

Gerwig’s fresh takes don’t stop there. Her bold decision to tell this very classic tale through a non-linear narrative keeps audiences engaged and fully utilises the innovation that can be conceived through adapted screenplays. It certainly stands out among its predecessors. Gerwig brings Alcott’s progressive thinking to life within this female friendship narrative and I soaked up every minute of it. Jo, Meg (Emma Watson), Amy (Florence Pugh), Beth (Eliza Scanlen) and Mary (Laura Dern) are given due attention, all of them representing such diverse talents and definitions of womanhood.
Gerwig, Ronan and Timothée Chalamet, having previously worked together in Lady Bird, are the power trio that will always have me throwing my money at a cinema ticket. Pugh, however, is especially compelling as the young Amy, channelling humour, naivety and charm, cloaked within an extremely effective fringe! Her performance embodies everything about female coming-of-age including the harsh realities that permeate womanhood. Mature Amy wears the scars that growing up has inflicted on her; she sees the world for what it is and conforms to it reluctantly. Pugh displays an impactful characterisation that uplifts the oppressive moments of this feminist tale. Even the smallest of roles are played with a palpable dedication as Watson, Scanlen, Dern and Meryl Streep are by no means in the spotlight, but still have no trouble catching the attention of the crowd. We know that Gerwig has dedicated her time and compassion to writing these characters the way Alcott intended them, taking special care to present distinct femininities that every woman deserves to witness on the big screen.
That is why it is so devastating that the awards season has commenced, with very little attention or praise given to Gerwig’s exceptional direction. The Golden Globes aired on television earlier this month complete with a heavy dose of testosterone. Little Women, unfortunately, received only two nominations: one for best original score – an element of the film which wasn’t exactly more notable than its other breathtaking qualities – and unsurprisingly, one nomination for best actress which went to Saoirse Ronan.
It is a disgrace that the film was snubbed of a best motion picture nomination and even more outrageous that Gerwig was overlooked in the best director category. It’s our duty as spectators to assure Gerwig and other women in film that we see them, we admire them and we urge them to keep going, despite the blatant sexism and uniformity that plagues the awarding industries.
I couldn’t finish without addressing one striking contribution to Little Women. Jacqueline Durran’s costume design is an asset to this film. I was sat absolutely in awe of the striking costumes threaded throughout, each one telling a story, from Jo’s androgynous cap and waistcoat to Meg’s falsely affluent pink ball gown. One of the reasons why Durran is so extraordinary is her ethical philosophy towards costume in film and television. Durran aims for sustainability in her designs and has achieved this in many films, including a 100% sustainable costume for Belle in Beauty and the Beast (2017). At a time when the climate crisis is reaching unpredictable peaks, Durran is making a doubly bold statement in Gerwig’s film.
Little Women may just be my favourite film of the year – it hits all the right notes and showcases an array of female talent. The relationships presented between the March women will overwhelm audiences with a profound sense of gratitude for their own loved ones, as Gerwig’s script drives home the message of unconditional love and sisterhood.
<pre>Photo Credit: Sony Pictures</pre>

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Despite the sexism that plagues mainstream awarding bodies, Greta Gerwig’s exceptional directing of Little Women has ensured that the film is classic yet current, portraying memorable and relatable definitions of femininity.

Little Women: Greta Gerwig’s Bold New Adaptation

Imagine a world that appears as if a child had perceived it. Where fear manifests itself in the most mundane of items, where the purity of magic prevails when the sun goes down, where everything exists with the charm of a children’s pop-up book imbued within it. Amanda Strong makes this fantasy a reality in her stop-frame animation Biidaaban (The Dawn Comes).
The film is based on the work of Leanne Betasamosake Simpson, an Indigenous writer belonging to the Mississauga subtribe of the First Nations located in Ontario, Canada. Simpson is known for utilising the wonders of magic and spirituality to convey her passion for reviving Indigenous culture. In this story, we meet the eccentric Biidaaban and her 10,000-year-old shapeshifting companion Sabe, while they undertake a crucial quest to reclaim the beauty of Indigenous tradition and resist against a dark contemporary world that wants to bury it and forget.
Masked by the cover of nightfall, Biidaaban and Sabe take to the streets of a Canadian suburban town that appears ordinary on the surface, but is steeped in fantastical danger. The two characters attempt to collect sap from maple trees in order to make maple sugar, a task that had been practiced by their ancestors generations before. Throughout their journey, they are under the watchful eye of two hypnotically beautiful ghosts taking the shape of a wolf and a caribou – representing nature’s lost past and forming a key element of the story’s imagery.
The 19-minute film took two years to make and the attention to detail woven throughout the tale does not go unnoticed. Strong utilises the charms and quirks of traditional animation with such artistry in her miniature sets and puppets, and it injects this twee yet poignant story with the Hollywood auteurship of Tim Burton or Wes Anderson. Strong takes the art of cinematic visuals to otherworldly places that even transcend the need for dialogue. The majority of the narrative remains wordless, aside from the poetry that appears at the beginning and end of the story, sandwiching the message of tradition between realities of a contemporary world. Strong excels at executing a meaningful wordless narrative by turning it into a highly effective storytelling tool that deserves praise in and of itself.
There is an abundance of striking imagery running throughout the film to address a number of critical issues faced by Indigenous communities. These include fears around the loss of their culture, history and land – something that is cultivated in the film by recalling childhood fears. For instance, supposedly harmless everyday objects like a garden hose are brought to life and used to attack Biidaaban, standing in the way of her fight to reclaim her ceremonial heritage. Strong also draws attention to modernity’s oppression of Indigenous land through varying shots of electricity running through the depths of nature, a stark contrast forming between the two. The critiques do not end there, as it is evident Strong is alluding to the environmental problems the world is experiencing currently, where the ghosts of the wolf and the caribou, although beautiful, stand to represent the animals who have been chased out of their homes by land development – further acting as a metaphor for how Indigenous people has been treated, as their culture is too at risk of extinction. Strong has voiced that we are forgetting to honour the ancestors and animals that were here long before us, particularly in Canada where this story is set. This short film is a call to action, encouraging Indigenous viewers to prevent their culture from being drowned out by the white noise of modernity, to fight against land development and reclaim their rich history.
The characters of Biidaaban and Sabe embody this desired strength and tell their audiences there is no need to be afraid anymore. The final frame of the film reminds us that although tradition and modernity still stand north and south of one another, the fight to reclaim ceremonial custom lies between them in an electric space ready to collide. I would highly recommend this short for its beautifully creative form of storytelling and using this dreamlike world to unite a diverse set of cultures in understanding the issues impacting Indigenous communities that are far from fiction. It is a celebration of both the heritage of Indigenous culture and the artistry of animation.
Biidaaban is part of the Native Spirit Indigenous Film Festival, which continues in London. <a href="https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/o/native-spirit-uk-17728364903">Register here</a>. This film was created by CBC Arts and is <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWjnYKyiUB8">available to watch</a> on their YouTube channel.

Biidaaban Still Large _newsite

Leanne Betasamosake Simpson&#8217;s story inspired the creation of this beautifully realised, but critically powerful movie that explores the most pertinent issues facing Indigenous peoples.

Biidaaban: A Powerful Indigenous Tale of Magic and Resistance Brought to Life

The <a href="https://nativespiritfoundation.org/13th-native-spirit-festival-12-20-october-2019/">13th Native Spirit Film Festival</a> will be running between 12 and 20 October 2019. This event deserves far more support and recognition as a platform for Indigenous cinema. Native Spirit works to champion and promote this unique category of filmmaking, and their chosen films delve into significant social and political issues with an artistic flair guaranteed to attract any cinephile.
One of the films being screened at this year’s festival is Max Baring’s revealing documentary Guarding the Forest, which couldn’t have been more timely. The summer of 2019 brought to light the severe ecological threat faced by our planet, as a social media storm highlighted the environmental crimes being committed in the <a href="http://www.the-platform.org.uk/2019/08/21/darkness-descends-on-sao-paulo/">Amazon rainforest</a>. Although natural forest fires are not uncommon during the dry season, the sheer degree of destruction showing an <a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-latin-america-49415973">increase in fires of more than 80%</a> points towards illegal deforestation through slash-and-burn methods. The reason for this deforestation lies with the agriculture industry creating land for their produce, and although this form of demarcation is illegal in Brazil, <a href="https://www.newscientist.com/article/2210621-deforestation-in-brazil-has-rocketed-since-bolsonaro-became-president/">President Bolsonaro</a> has famously little concern for the planet’s wellbeing.
The recent international outrage is primarily concerned with the long-term environmental implications, but it is important not to lose sight of the people who are also battling the social fallout. Indigenous communities are losing homes and having their land destroyed for economic gain: if you thought climate action wasn’t getting enough media coverage, the human rights element of this atrocity certainly isn’t either. Max Baring’s festival film makes this issue known, giving a voice to the rainforest’s people.
Filmed in the Guajajara Indigenous territory within the depths of Brazil, Guarding the Forest holds a magnifying glass up to the devastation spreading through the Amazon rainforest due to the all-too-common prevalence of loggers. We are all aware of the impact deforestation has on our planet, but this documentary digs deeper into the direct social impact these atrocities have on local Indigenous populations and how members of the Guajajara community are fighting back.
The Guajajara Task Force call themselves “Guardians of the Forest” and view themselves as warriors serving to protect Mother Nature, aiming to negotiate with those who threaten her. The documentary exposes the politics surrounding the issues of deforestation and the eternal conflict between ecology and economy affecting the lives of so many. It highlights what used to be a lush beacon of greenery that provides us with 20% of the world’s oxygen, and that many justify its destruction because of the realities of a money-driven world. It is a film which surveys the fight between “individual, economic, private interests versus interests of the collective rights of Indigenous peoples” as Brazil’s first Indigenous congresswoman Joênia Wapichana puts it.
Following the election of President Bolsonaro and the power over land demarcation being transferred to the Ministry of Agriculture (an organisation whose main priority lies with farming) as opposed to the original organisation FUNAI (a foundation which aims to protect the rights of Indigenous people) logging has become far more of a cultural, as well as an environmental, threat.
Filmmakers put themselves on the front line as they utilise footage of fire, explosions and chaos to accentuate the destruction that the Guajajara Guardians are frequently facing. This serves to make the documentary all the more shocking, as it provides a melancholic reminder of the war we have declared on our own planet and its people. A simple yet effective use of Google Earth helps the audience visualise the severity of demarcation as vibrant green fades to lifeless brown in a fear-inducing image. The film runs for less than half an hour, but nevertheless offers viewers an intimate relationship with the Guardians, as cameras follow them through darkness and barren forests illustrating the reality of their fight. It effectively presents a more personal connection to environmental issues to strike the viewer on a human level.
This documentary does indeed emphasise the environmental crisis we all face, but its main focus is the Indigenous people of Brazil and the threats to their lives and homes. It also quite rightly sheds a light on the heroes putting their lives on the line to protect this precious ecosystem, something mainstream media channels have been failing to do. Using an environmental issue which inevitably impacts on the entire globe the documentary is a genius way of educating audiences (especially western) on cultural matters which would otherwise remain unexplored, bringing lesser known issues concerning Indigenous communities to the surface. As one of the Guardians so poignantly notes, “Our culture is our life, it’s in our blood, and nature is always part of our life” – and this thought-provoking documentary illustrates how deforestation is not only destroying land, but also destroying historical culture and human rights.
Guarding the Forest shows on 12th October at the Native Spirit Indigenous Film Festival at 2-4pm at The Court Room, First Floor, Senate House, Malet Street, London WC1E 7HU. <a href="https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/o/native-spirit-uk-17728364903">Register here</a>.

Guarding the Forest Still _newsite

Max Baring’s new documentary film recounts the struggles of the indigenous peoples who live in the Amazon, after the burning of the rainforests gained international attention.

Charlotte Rawlings