The Headless Woman

Reviewer: Jonthan Poritsky
Rating (out of 5): ****

The title suggests decapitation and the poster, an infinitely tousled coif atop a silhouette in profile, suggests the opposite, an overabundance of cranium, if you will. The Headless Woman is nothing that these signifiers suggest, yet they couldn't be more appropriate. That's the trick of Lucrecia Martel's fascinating, if enigmatic film: nothing much seems to happen during it's 86 minute runtime, and yet a great deal happens.

The film's brief first act is simple enough: Children playing on a dirt road. A woman driving a car. The ring of a cellphone. A thud. The rest of the film picks up the pieces and paints a beautiful picture of an ugly life. Verónica (María Onetto), the woman driving the car, sees something lying in the road after her accident. In a daze, or in a panic, she drives off to the hospital to treat whiplash, then has a clandestine meeting with a lover, then finally heads home. For 20 minutes we are fed these hard-boiled blips of an uncertain life. Is Verónica a criminal? Does she have amnesia, or is it a psychotic break?

While aspects of the film are a bit confusing, where Lucrecia Martel excels is in forcing you to ponder every last frame of her film. Cinematographer Bárbara Álvarez (who shot the underrated Whisky) has masterfully created a visual language of suspense. For example, the lens choice for shots looking through a windshield from the driver's perspective will really put you on edge. While we have a clear view of the road, our periphery is always cut off. As we swerve around Argentina's winding roads, impending doom could be around any corner, all because of a simple shot from the back seat of a car.

I don't know much about Argentinean culture, but this film makes it seem as though the societal gap between the rich and the poor seems even wider than in the U.S. At times the film reminds of a 1980s Woody Allen film in which the characters are rich but relatable. The truth, however, is that these people are not relatable at all. As a successful dentist, Verónica has earned a servant for everything. No matter where she finds herself, she is being waited on hand and foot. Even at the gym, when the sink breaks, she finds a janitor to pour bottled water on her hands and head in what is the film's most revealing scene. The term bourgeoisie never seemed to fit anyone so perfectly. And it's highly possibly that Martel is also slyly referencing Argentina's dictator past, in the ways Verónica shirks responsibility.

Headless Woman is a psychological thriller in which nothing too overtly thrilling happens. But with Martel's unerring eye for detail as a master visual storyteller the film demands multiple viewings.

The only bonus feature on the disc is a taped interview with Lucrecia Martel at UCLA which is victimized by poor sound exacerbated by a loud ticking sound happening somewhere in the auditorium. I had to turn it off before I lost my mind, and became a headless critic. But if you can stand the sound the director offers some interesting facts about her film and her process.