SAINT MAUD (2019) ★

Saint Maud carries itself with an air of (faux-?) sophistication, trafficking in the imagery of avant-garde dance videos and William Blake art monographs, so it seems for, like, half a second that it might have something interesting to say about faith and the role that it might play in the life of a health care worker badly in need of redemptive grace. But no: religion is the same old bugaboo here, deployed for the same old reasons: its intense imagery, its interest in gnarly forms of mortification (I know what a spugna is now, thanks for that), and basically its utility for driving a character to whatever psychological extreme the script calls for. Is this lazy screenwriting? Probably. Does it insult millions of Christian filmgoers? Sure. Is it as fun as it's ever been to see someone improvise a liturgical shawl and go full cuckoo? Absolutely. 

OK, despite taking the easy route with its themes, this is still a remarkably accomplished debut. The actors deserve a lot of the credit: not only the perfectly cast Morfydd Clark, whose sharp, vole-like face half-carries the entire film, but also Jennifer Ehle, whose louche, secular physicality contributes a great counterpoint to Clark's tightly wound vulnerable-animal energy. (I've liked Elhe since her role in the Dead Ringers remake series that no one ever wants to talk about.) But it (arguably) takes a great director to get these great performances, so don't discredit the work that Rose Glass contributes here. Her skills are on display just about everywhere you look: the film is confidently paced and carefully shot and it gets bonus points for fun horror movie sound design. It's not too surprising, ultimately, to know that Glass jumped from this to the more idiosyncratic, more interesting (and more queer) Love Lies Bleeding just two years later, and I can say without hesitation that I look forward to whatever her third feature might be.

A ★★★★ review of Saint Maud (2019)

Saint Maud carries itself with an air of (faux-?) sophistication, trafficking in the imagery of avant-garde dance videos and William Blake art monographs, so it seems for, like, half a second that it might have something interesting to say about faith and the role that it might play in the life of a health care worker badly in need of redemptive grace. But no: religion is the same old bugaboo here, deployed for the same old reasons: its intense imagery, its interest in gnarly forms of mortification (I know what a spugna is now, thanks for that), and basically its

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