Writers: Noémie Merlant, Pauline Munier and Céline Sciamma
Director: Noémie Merlant
Noémie Merlant’s second directorial feature, co-written by Celine Sciamma and Pauline Munier, is a scattered but playful horror-comedy that only occasionally hits its mark, coasting largely on the likability of its talented cast and a refreshingly feminist lens. There’s a certain courage in its approach, particularly in how it tackles sexual violence using the horror genre with comedy to offer some distance and catharsis to a potentially risky premise.
The film starts off promisingly with a dramatic and energetic visual flourish: a camera cranes across a Marseille apartment block during a blistering heatwave, in a clear homage to Rear Window. We catch glimpses of its colourful inhabitants, including witnessing a crime that is dealt with in a humorous, casually offhand manner and never picked up again. The opening perfectly encapsulates the film’s gonzo, genre-playful tone and its theme of abused women taking back their power. Our main characters are introduced in a dizzying, comic-book style, including Nicole (Sanda Codreanu), a supposedly dowdy writer who dreams of penning a romance novel; boisterous camgirl Ruby (Souheila Yacoub); and frazzled actress Elise (played by Merlant herself), who arrives dressed in a Marilyn Monroe bouffant, having just come off the set of a television film.
Nicole has been on her balcony spying on her attractive photographer neighbour (Lucas Bravo from Emily in Paris), who lives in the apartment across the street. After catching his attention, the women soon find themselves invited over for drinks, but when Ruby arrives home after the others and is discovered in a bloody, traumatised state, the film takes a twisted, far-fetched, and increasingly chaotic turn.
Merlant wears her influences on her sleeve—not only Hitchcock but also the punkish, verité energy of early Pedro Almodóvar and the splatter aesthetic of Sam Raimi. However, the sharp turn to the supernatural lacks finesse, even though the concept of using ghosts to symbolise the historical trauma of abuse faced by the female characters is initially intriguing. The film’s strengths lie in the three leads, who share an easy and fun chemistry. Yet, Merlant struggles to establish a consistent tone as we energetically hop between genres, resulting in tonal whiplash that makes the transitions between horror, social critique, and broad, goofy comedy feel uneasy and jarring.
While the film showcases a defiance in its vulgarity and retains a daring and confident energy throughout, much of the humour falls flat, featuring unfunny hijinks such as the clumsy disposal of a corpse, a scene with a severed appendage, and a character prone to inopportune episodes of flatulence. It all culminates in a defiant, empowering, and emotionally impactful final scene, but sadly, The Balconettes ultimately feels like less than the sum of its likeable, severed parts.
The Balconettes screened at the BFI London Film Festival 2024.
The Reviews Hub Score:
Uneven feminist horror
