Martha Marcy May Marlene (2011)

Directed by: Sean Durkin
Written by: Sean Durkin
Cast: Elizabeth Olsen, John Hawkes, Sarah Paulson, Hugh Dancy

Martha Marcy May Marlene is another much-hyped Sundance Lab film that scores highly on atmosphere and aspirations, but disappoints when it comes to plot. A dazzling performance from Elizabeth Olsen and Jody Lee Lipes’s chiaroscuro cinematography almost – but not quite – compensate for the superficial storytelling.

Martha Marcy May Marlene is based on an intriguing premise: a fractured narrative that switches back and forth between a young girl’s experiences in a shady cult, and the difficulties she encounters when she attempts to return to normal life. Cults are fascinating, a heady mix of sex, subjugation and spiritual mania, and could prove fertile ground for a psychological thriller. Unfortunately, this isn’t it.

Durkin goes old-school for his inspiration, eschewing the big-business approach to modern culthood espoused by Scientology or the FLDS, instead cherry-picking aspects of the Manson Family history and fabricating a nameless, low-level rural group from the loose details. Patrick (John Hawkes) rules the roost. His followers have banded together around his charisma and a free-form, free love hippy vibe; their only stated goal is to become self-sufficient in a series of ramshackle farm buildings in the Catskills. These teenage and twenty-something initiates have tuned in and dropped out, but aren’t beyond asking for parental handouts when their crafting fails to bring in sufficient cash. They knit scarves, plant seeds, share clothing and bodily fluids like they’re living the Spahn Ranch dream in the summer of ’69.

John Hawkes exudes spindly menace on screen, his beady eyes belying the soft assurances in his voice, but it’s never clear whether Patrick wants revolution, apocalypse, or rockstar recognition (he fancies himself as a singer songwriter – just like Manson and David Koresh). Because there’s no doctrine on display, we don’t know why Martha joins the group in the first place. The cult’s activities are depicted in broad, disconnected strokes, and none of it seems very unique or purposeful. On the ranch, the men eat first, the women wait in silence in the hallway until they’re done. Meetings involve passing an acoustic guitar from hand-to-hand for the singing of wistful folk songs. Everybody belongs to everybody; sex is a free-for-all (Patrick likes to watch) and the resulting babies are raised by the female half of the village.

At some nebulous point, Martha drifts in, attracted by hugs and smiles, and finds herself being drugged, raped and rechristened Marcy May. Flashback after flashback shows the gradual erosion of her selfhood as she becomes subsumed into the hierarchy. Eventually, Marcy May is entrusted with the indoctrination of a new recruit, and prepare the naïf for her “special night” – sexual induction on a dirty floor with Patrick grinding away on top. This would all be much more engaging if the audience had some idea of how Martha used to be, and how much of a change Marcy May’s passivity represents in her. The title hints that separate personalities might be involved, but Dissociative Identity Disorder is never discussed. Was she a victim of abuse long before she arrived at the ranch? Was she repeating patterns or trying something new? Why does she decide to leave? Is it sexual tension, once she’s no longer Patrick’s favorite, or the rising threat of violence? It’s easy to trail such questions when writing a narrative; the hard part is providing insight and answers.

The other half of the narrative is equally fragmentary. After escaping from the farm, Martha calls her sister, Lucy (Sarah Paulson). Lucy hasn’t seen or heard from Martha for two years, but she drives to the rescue and brings her sister back to her tony lakeside rental. Once again, we’re frustrated because there are few hints about Martha and Lucy’s previous relationship, and there are no pointers as to how much Martha has changed since Lucy last saw her. All we know is now. Lucy has a new husband, Ted (Hugh Dancy), they’re trying for a baby, and the last thing they need is a pensive, gauche Martha blundering through the house. It becomes increasingly clear that Martha has suffered some kind of trauma, but she refuses to talk about the recent past. Her behavior spirals from odd into frightening, threatening to destroy everything that Ted and Lucy have. It's no spoiler to say this all ends in tears.

It’s Olsen’s film. She’s a wide-eyed innocent, reminiscent of a young Mia Farrow, exuding vulnerability in every softly-lit frame. She imbues Martha with a grace and mystery that goes far beyond what’s scripted. Spectacular though her performance is, however, it gets uncomfortable to watch. She’s a constant victim, stripped literally naked in some scenes. The unremittingly male gaze lingers a little too long on her helplessness and soft flesh. Like it or not, the audience becomes a voyeur, complicit in her disintegration. The lack of structure in the story-telling, and the refusal to give Martha much in the way of an origin or destination, make this seem all the more heinous, as though we’re rubber-necking at a long slow car crash and have no intention of stopping to help.

Martha Marcy May Marlene presents a series of interesting ideas that fall apart under scrutiny. The gaping holes in the narrative mean it’s difficult to suspend disbelief. In film-making, there’s ambiguity (as in Michael Haneke’s work, a definite influence here), and there’s failure to work out the nitty gritty details – which is just plain inconsiderate to your audience. Durkin’s characters arrange themselves in intriguing tableaux vivant, but there is little of substance beneath the dreamy facades. By the time the credits roll, this film has managed to say little other than “let’s all feel sorry for the sad, pretty lady”.

Rating: (3 out of 5):