Another film from Joanna Hogg brings another portrait of emotionally repressed, deeply unhappy members of the upper middle classes. To make things worse, the film relies on the over-familliar trope of the struggles of a would-be artist (the most boring of all subjects for an artist to consider), in this case a young woman contemporary to the director and with an apparent aspiration to become a Hogg-like film-maker. In places the film seems to acknowlege the inherent ridiculousness of its protagonist; but she recieves a sympathetic treatment. Hogg's style is frankly bizarre: the opposite of melodramatic, she prefers to show her characters going quielty about their business in the aftermath of unseen trauma. Even the wider structure of the film seems (deliberatley) artless, things happen (mostly offscreen) but there's no attempt to construct a plot in the orthodox sense, to manipulate the sequence of events to create a well-paced story. In general, I hate Hollywood blockbusters with their predictable narrative arcs, and love a good piece of miserablism; but the director has to meet me half-way. In fact, although I was profoundly irritated for the film's first half, I found the remainder more watchable than Hogg's two previous movies. But the basic subject (naive woman whose boyfriend is a heroin addict) was covered with far more wit and perception by Rachel Cusk in her first novel 'Saving Agnes', without the same level of underlying self-regard.
Review of The Souvenir
