Directed by Peter Mackie Burns
HOME, 4 October 2017
In ambition, this film feels like one of those ‘state of the nation’ affairs.
Daphne (Emily Beecham) is a single woman living in London, world city (ain’t it a wondrous toy?). She keeps her head down: loads to do at work, some socialising and casual sex, reading Zizek (and, I’m guessing, Ranciere and Agamben) in the evenings. Then she sees a shopkeeper knifed before her eyes and it alters her life; though in truth, not that much. Perhaps she has more casual sex, hits the booze oftener, gradually becomes better disposed towards her mother’s insane flirtation with Buddhism (incidentally, Zizec wrote of what he somewhere called ‘the violent dark side of Buddhism‘ well before the expulsion of the Rohingya from Myanmar – so bully to him). Elsewhere, though, she comes across as a stroppy teenager still.
One of the problems with the film is that Beecham is so beautiful – at one point the guy delivering her take-away says (in some concern), ‘You look like shit.’ (We know that she has recently been on a bit of a bender.) Well, she doesn’t actually – she looks better than any woman you will pass in the street on your way home.
And then there is that guy who wants more from her than sex – he wants something meaningful, like say love – and gets neither. Morale: always accept the sex.
Daphne is a decent enough film but meandering and, ultimately, low-impact.