Visiting her family at Christmas, a woman grows suspicious of the
immigrant taken in by her parents.
Review by
Benjamin Poole
Directed by: Marisa Crespo, Moisés Romera
Starring: Roser Tapias, Pilar Almeria, Anna Kurikka
I fucking love Christmas (even typing those two syllables, with their
evocative sibilance, sends an anticipatory shiver though my body which
borders upon the carnal) but I am of an empathetic nature and can
understand why others may not share my festive enthusiasm. Aside from the
cost and the pressure, for people like us (the wafflers, our manicured
finger caressing the pulse of the zeitgeist) there's the cultural homogeny
of it all: same songs, same films, same arguments about the same films,
etc (I've not seen it- too early- but my festal heart breaks for the
failure of Red One, which could have been a welcome addition to the kiddy Christmas canon,
challenging Elf's exhaustive domination). Yet still there are the two truly draining
spectres of Christmas: Ritual and Family. Family speaks for itself; a
group of people who you are forced to spend time with as a result of
mandated genealogy rather than preference; forcefully adapting the
personality you inhabit the other 364 days of the year in a clumsy attempt
at domestic civility. Ritual is when tradition freezes into a joyless
ceremony, a crushing phenomenon best exemplified in the Christmas episode
of sitcom Peep Show (an episode I usually skip on rewatches
due to its upsettingly accurate over-lit reproduction of unwanted Yuletide
convention) and its scabrous quarrels concerning the sanctity of Christmas
dinner and the traditional feasibility of cauliflower. A social horror,
these inevitable expectations and coercions of Christmas are integral to
You Are Not Me.
You Are Not Me (joint writers and directors Marisa Crespo and
Moisés Romera), opens with heroine Aitana (Roser Tapias) and
her wife Gabi (Yapoena Silva) driving home for Christmas with their
adopted son, in order to surprise her parents for the holidays. Hmmm.
Never a good idea to drop in on anyone at Christmas Aitana, and, in a duly
grim omen, as they drive though the rural dark, the car hits something on
the road. It turns out to be a pig, whose poor snout bears the bloodied
impact of the car bumper. Like a slipped crimson crown, the wound masks
the sow's face to become a mordant leitmotif: Aitana and the animal are
framed in a wide angle with the film's title, rendered in deep-red sigils,
imposed over them.
Is fate or perhaps something more personal transpiring against our
beauteous gay couple? Their luggage has gone missing in transit, and
further pigs surreally roam the countryside route. What's more, except for
her sweet younger brother who is affected by muscular dystrophy, Aitana's
family are nonplussed to see her; a situation compounded by a trio of
"family friends" who are in situ, but whom the prodigal daughter hasn't
met before. The awkward reunion is worsened by the additional
unfamiliarity of Nadia (Anna Kurikka), an interloper who seems to
have taken Aitana's place in the homestead; commandeering her room, and
seemingly her parents' affections. On the day itself, the house swells
with strangers, who appear to have meaningful history with her parents and
speak of strict rituals and customs. With disorientating accuracy, Crespo
and Romera recreate a specifically seasonal alienation of being with
people yet feeling estranged.
Aitana's father remonstrates that he "doesn’t like the unexpected," a
reasonable grumble which has increasing implications as the holiday takes
on stranger edges. The couple are dubious of Nadia, whom Aitana's mother
seems to dote on, and fear the girl around their little boy (explicated in
a nightmare sequence which is genuinely frightening). In turn, Nadia is
referred to as a "gypsy" and the perception of her destitute status forms
part of the film's pop-commentary on social issues. Rigid conservatism
characterises the parents and their coterie, who are the sort of people
who might affect begrudging acceptance but inwardly fume at a lesbian
couple and their adopted black baby. With an implied sense that Gabi is
perhaps not quite as welcome as she should be, the queer aspects of
You Are Not Me perpetuate subtly (even though Christmas is
literally the gayest time of the year: it's not "make the yuletide
straight," is it?). Yet at the same time Nadia confronts our suspicious
"social justice" hero with barbs such as ‘"you think you're so cool, but
you're a racist." Paranoia builds as the anticipated Christmas meal
encroaches, and when it arrives, the centrepiece is a roasted piglet; ‘"so
fat" and the exact dimensions and mien of a large baby...
The denizens of the gathering boast of a farm which allows you to raise
your own pig, taking care of it and fattening until it is ripe for
delicious slaughter: the correlation is clear, but to whom does it
pertain? With its dinner party dread, You Are Not Me invokes
Karyn Kusama's superb
The Invitation, while the film's visual dialect of vivid imagery and witchy symbols
reminded me of Kill List (along with the, no spoilers, cruel
denouement of both films). The Christmas horror is its own specific genre,
and a particular ritual of my own is to rewatch
Black Christmas
the night before; the coldness of it, the weird energy, and the deathly
cool girls who have become like relatives I visit once a year. Perhaps
there is room for a double bill this Christmas, with Atiana and Gabi's
struggle against festive evil matching the best of this seasonal genre.
You Are Not Me is in US cinemas and
on VOD from December 6th. A UK/ROI release has yet to be announced.
