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THE DRESSMAKER
Directed by Jocelyn Moorhouse, with Kate Winslet.
REVIEW: Jon Frosch
AUSTRALIAN filmmaker Jocelyn Moorhouse has had an odd career. After making an auspicious home-turf debut with 1991’s Proof, she offered up gloppy back-to-back slices of deep-dish Americana: one sweet ( How to Make an American Quilt), one sour (her adaptation of Jane Smiley’s novel A Thousand Acres).
Following an 18-year hiatus, Moorhouse is behind the camera – and down under – again, though it would be a stretch to say that The Dressmaker, based on the book by Rosalie Hamand starring Kate Winslet, is the comeback she needs. That doesn’t mean this incorrigibly silly movie about a 1950s fashionista who returns to wreak havoc on her outback hometown isn’t fun; much of it is, mostly in that what-on-earth-were-they-thinking kind of way. Indeed, little here “works” in any traditional sense of that word, but the film boasts enough manic energy and straight-up weirdness to keep you entertained before overstaying its welcome in the final act.
The story opens with Myrtle “Tilly” Dunnage (Winslet) arriving in the dusty village of Dungatar, setting down her suitcase, lighting a cigarette and, to the strains of gunslingerish music, muttering, “I’m back, you bastards.” Those who think they’re in for a stylized feminist Western, guess again: The Dressmaker will switch gears and genres about a dozen times before the end credits roll, not so much blending as lurching between rom-com, melodrama, whodunit, screwball, film noir and more. It’s a strange cocktail – think Lasse Hallstrom’s Chocolat spiked with John Waters’ Serial Mom– and Moorhouse and writing partner PJ Hogan find some pungent flavours amid the tropes and cliches.
Gradually, our heroine’s backstory emerges, and it’s a doozy: Tilly was booted from Dungatar at age 10 for allegedly murdering a bullying classmate. Though she seems to be suffering from some kind of amnesia that prevents her from recalling exactly what happened, Tilly senses she’s innocent – and she wants to get back at the people who wronged her.
Really, though, the most compelling thing about Tilly’s homecoming is her reunion with her mother, Molly, a crusty old crank played with sglee by Judy Davis. Molly seems to have memory problems of her own: First, she claims not to remember Tilly; then, once she does, she’s convinced her daughter is a cold-blooded killer. Davis’ snarling and slapsticky scuffling with Winslet are worth the price of admission alone.
But back to that plot – while she’s home, Tilly, who trained as a dressmaker in Paris, takes it upon herself to transform Dungatar’s frumpiest female denizens into glamour-pusses. How that fits in with her revenge scheme is never quite clear, but logic be damned, The Dressmaker has more pressing things on its mind – like Liam Hemsworth’s torso. The actor plays a local Adonis named Teddy, who, at one point, disrobes so Tilly can fit him for a custom-made suit.
Winslet hams it up gamely in femme fatale mode, and Hugo Weaving’s cross-dressing police sergeant is a pleasingly campy touch.
The Dressmaker is about as far from essential viewing as one could imagine, but, for all its brightly glaring flaws, much of it qualifies as a glossy, goofy guilty pleasure. – Reuters/ Hollywood Reporter