Movies

Review of “The Owls”

The Owls, (an acronym for older, wiser lesbians), is what you might call an experimental thriller, the product of an all-star group of lesbian film icons working as The Film Collaborative. Guinevere Turner, (Itty Bitty Titty Committee, The L Word) Skyler Cooper, V.S. Brodie, (Go Fish) star, alongside writer/producer Cheryl Dunye (famous for 1996 indie sensation The Watermelon Woman).

With several co-producers and producers, there are many cooks in the proverbial kitchen, and many of the main creatives share roles, making good on the “collaborative” title. As such, it’s a multi-layered, unique and thoroughly original project — part queer film criticism and part tense, enjoyable fiction.

The main storyline concerns the lives of four friends (though “frenemy” might be a more apt description), all washouts from the 1990s riot grrl/queer activist era. They are, ostensibly older, wiser lesbians (hence the title), though none of them can seem to get over the problems that plagued their youths.

Iris (Turner) is the former front woman of a wannabe riot grrl band called The Screeches. Sexy, screwed-up and completely washed out, Iris is a raging alcoholic who hasn’t taken very well to post-punk life. She’s sarcastic around her friends — especially ex-girlfriend MJ (Brodie), and almost always sucking down booze of one sort or another, but she’s easily the most fun (and possibly the most likeable) character in the piece. MJ is a chronic masturbator who never leaves the house, not even when Iris attempts to sell it. She’s fiercely loyal and completely in love with Iris — something that gets everyone in big trouble towards the beginning of the film.

Carol (Dunye) is a pseudo-spiritual figure and a lover of art and poetry with an activist background. She’s partnered with Lily (Lisa Gornick), another former Screech (and Iris’ former lover, naturally). The pair is trying to get pregnant, despite having enormous hurdles in their relationship, not the least of which being they cannot seem to communicate with one another.

We first meet our crew at a party described by the now deceased Cricket (Deak Evgenikos), in a series of initially confounding interviews. We then follow their lives as Iris moves back into town, and the four buddies get down to the business of living, loving and sharing one very dark secret.

Not long into the movie, Skye (Cooper), a sexy ex-soldier, comes upon the group, and decides to stay for a while, helping out around the house while she waits for repair parts for her motorcycle. Her arrival is out of the blue, and her effect on the other women is marked: She throws a monkey wrench into all of their already-dysfunctional relationships.

It all plays out in intertwined narrative scenes with “confessional” documentary footage. In fact, the confessionals are generally presented split-screen alongside other “story” footage, to better highlight all of those innermost thoughts.

Adding to the complexity of the piece are interviews done with the stars themselves. About 20 minutes in, Dunye introduces herself by her real name, with other cast and crewmembers to follow. It’s unclear whether these are actual candid interviews with the actors, or if there is another layer of playacting on display, but the thoughts shared about the characters, the process of collaboration, and on sexuality and gender identity are interesting and articulate.

As the film stretches on, the elements begin to blend, and the drama steadily increases until we reach a shocking boiling point. Skye’s presence awakens old passions in Lily and suspicions in Iris, while MJ goes off the deep end as that dark secret begins to manifest heavily in her subconscious, and Carol withdraws into herself and her artier expressions. The characters become like unhinged molecules in a particularly unstable compound — all bouncing off and sticking to one another.

As we go on, the story begins to introduce tones that are downright Shakespearean — there are notes of Macbeth all over the final third of the movie, and the structure of the narrative scenes with five characters basically stuck in a house with the omnipresent threat of violence at hand. It also smacks of a Chekov play. Imagine The L Word through the lens of an obtuse Russian playwright, and you’re getting close.

This is almost certainly deliberate. Dunye is a canny writer, a fan of referencing familiar structures and styles, and no stranger to messing with her audience’s heads a bit. In her 1996 film, The Watermelon Woman, she created an entire fictional universe surrounding a historical figure (infamously footnoting the picture with a rather shocking revelation), and here, she is using the movie as a medium for her own brand of film criticism.

You’ll know by that last paragraph if this film is for you. There’s a whole lot of commentary on queer film, both literal — Dunye and company actually talking about trends in lesbian cinema — and metaphorical. The narrative itself is a twist on lofty literary source material. As such, it’s a polarizing experience. You’ll either love or hate the jumpy, stylized approach. It may even take more than one viewing to get everything figured out completely.

Those who are down for a bit of challenging film viewing will find an incredibly original, thoughtful, and engaging experience. They’ll also find a tightly crafted piece of filmmaking — while decidedly “indie,” the production values are immaculate, and the film looks glossy and beautiful, as it depicts fading stars and the realities of aging. This is art house cinema for queer women.

Cheryl Dunye has further cemented her reputation as one of the most creative, unique filmmakers in the lesbian oeuvre, and while it’s not for everyone, her most recent work rightly deserves praise and attention.

Watch the trailer (contains some NSFW language) below:

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