In ‘Femme,’ a secret act of vengeance comes disguised as erotic flirtation
Manuel Betancourt March 30, 2024
The most revelatory aspect of the art of drag is how it lays bare the centrality of performance in our everyday lives. That’s
is
most obvious when it comes to thinking
of about
gender. Wigs, heels
,
and makeup go a long way toward revealing femininity
(not unlike masculinity)
to be a kind of armature deployed as intentionally
on the streets
as it is on
aa
stage
as on the streets
. In Femme, Sam H. Freeman and Ng Choon Pings debut feature, that kernel of truth becomes the anchor for a deliciously vicious London-set revenge thriller.
When Jules (Nathan Stewart-Jarrett) steps into the spotlight at a bar as his alter ego, Aphrodite, you can see hes in his element. With voguing dancers flanking her, Aphrodite is aptly named. She is a goddess of the night. If you saw her lit only by moonlight
or by a spotlight
, youd be forgiven for being so taken with her grace. But such magic tends to disappear under the humbling
lightF f
luorescent
s
of a corner store
,. Fluorescent light is
particularly unkind to drag makeup.
Is that a bloke? Jules overhears a friend ask Preston (George MacKay of “1917”), as Aphrodite stands in line waiting to get a pack of cigarettes. Quietly, in a tight close-up, you see the queen trying to figure out how best to react to Prestons posturing homophobia. Should she shrink herself into nothing or try to shine as brightly as shed done on stage?
She opts for the latter. How can you call me a fag in front of all your friends when I caught you checking me out earlier?
she says.
All too quickly the scene devolves into a violent blur. Stripped, kicked
,
and recorded on Prestons phone throughout the ordeal, Jules is left with nothing. No wig. No dress. No comebacks. No dignity.
Imagine his luck, then, when one day at a bathhouse, Jules spots his assailant (all abs, tats
,
and attitude). In a split second, whatever self-pity
ing
had taken a hold of him following the attack is gone. He pursues Preston (who, it seems, doesnt recognize his victim), hops in his car
,
and kicks off the erotic, tense tte tte that structures this slick
,
stylish queer neo-noir.
Scouring the web for sex videos of outed masc straight boys, Jules begins concocting a plan. If he can get Preston on camera, maybe he can finally find closure, find a way to make good on the taunting line that first egged this loutish
tatted
guy
o i
nto senseless violence. Pulsing with Adam Janota Bzowskis drone-like synth score, lit by James Rhodes
s
neon-tinged cinematography
,
and cut with flair by Selina Macarthur, that scene is but one moment when Femme firmly establishes itself as a bold self-assured debut.
Already a
keen performer, Jules quickly becomes everything a closeted guy would want. Using his coyness as his most versatile seductive power, Jules
(and, in turn, Stewart-Jarrett)
nails the role of
homme fatale
the film requires. That includes dressing normal for his dinner dates with Preston and playing into the fantasies
Jules he
knows excite hi
ms attacker
: You want to get f
ucked
in the a
ss
by a thug? Preston goads while the two do so in a dimly lit park.
These late night encounters begin with a wild kind of violent, volatile chemistry. But they soon become
ever
more tender. Away from his mates, Preston is much softer than he purports to be when drowning in oversized sweatshirts and hardened grins
to match
. And armed with such a protective partner (or
maybe
so close
, perhaps,
to recording
histhat
revenge sex tape), Jules is finally able to climb out of the depression that had
so
derailed him.
The question throughout the film, of course, is whether this budding relationship is or could be real. These are two young men who move in worlds that constantly demand
that
they perform. Both are experts at code-switching and calibrating their moves, their words
,
and even their bodies in any given context. The two begin
by
offering one another versions of themselves they c
aould
nt show others. And as they each wonder whether such vulnerability will be anything but a liability, were left to wonder instead whether film and romance alike can end in anything but violence.
To watch Stewart-Jarrett (a glittering steel
ed
blade) and MacKay (a hardened fist blooming) play this pair of wounded would-be lovers is to witness two actors walking on a razors edge
of a tightrope
. Their characters mercurial motivations are often violently splintering
,outward
to the point where youre never sure what, if anything, is authentic after all.
Within that funhouse mirror of an erotic
–
thriller premise, Femme proves to be a gorgeously mounted meditation on queer and queered performance. As Freeman and Ngs film arrives at its necessarily cruel, blood
yied
ending as surprising as it is inevitable youre left as torn
asunder
as its central pair. Bruised, yes. But perhaps all the stronger for it.
