There's apparently a thriving genre of films about young women discovering their sexuality and facing the perils of young love and social and familial ostracism. "Cat Skin" follows a familiar plot, about an ostensibly heterosexual girl falling for a shy lesbian, but the specifics and the style make the film stand out.
The film is short on dialogue, which is fitting as Cat, the shy photography student you see on the poster, doesn't speak much, except to her pet cat and her hospitalized mother. Jodie Hirst is mesmerizing in the role, conveying the character's thoughts and feelings with expressions and silences; you can see the words she wants to say, and the torment of not being able to say them.
When the characters do speak, the results are not as strong: when April, the object of Cat's affection, is confronted by her parents for her friendship with this weird, mysterious girl, the lines are stilted and trite. The parents themselves are two-dimensional. Thankfully their role in the film is brief, and outweighed by the two dynamic leads.
The director squeezes almost unbearable tension out of almost static scenes: the two girls sitting beside each other in a cinema, neither daring to move, or April masturbating in her bedroom after a heated argument with her mother. When Cat and April finally spend the night together the scene is more suspenseful than graphic, since any sound could alert April's parents and cause trouble for both of them. But there's an overall gentleness and sensitivity to the story that is deeply touching, without ever getting sentimental or melodramatic.
The bittersweet ending leaves the audience with unanswered questions, but also a sense of hope. Cat and April still face a lifetime of struggle, but at least they understand themselves and each other better, and their story makes the audience feel a little closer to the rest of the world. That connection between personal and universal stories makes "Cat Skin" a rare film.
The film is short on dialogue, which is fitting as Cat, the shy photography student you see on the poster, doesn't speak much, except to her pet cat and her hospitalized mother. Jodie Hirst is mesmerizing in the role, conveying the character's thoughts and feelings with expressions and silences; you can see the words she wants to say, and the torment of not being able to say them.
When the characters do speak, the results are not as strong: when April, the object of Cat's affection, is confronted by her parents for her friendship with this weird, mysterious girl, the lines are stilted and trite. The parents themselves are two-dimensional. Thankfully their role in the film is brief, and outweighed by the two dynamic leads.
The director squeezes almost unbearable tension out of almost static scenes: the two girls sitting beside each other in a cinema, neither daring to move, or April masturbating in her bedroom after a heated argument with her mother. When Cat and April finally spend the night together the scene is more suspenseful than graphic, since any sound could alert April's parents and cause trouble for both of them. But there's an overall gentleness and sensitivity to the story that is deeply touching, without ever getting sentimental or melodramatic.
The bittersweet ending leaves the audience with unanswered questions, but also a sense of hope. Cat and April still face a lifetime of struggle, but at least they understand themselves and each other better, and their story makes the audience feel a little closer to the rest of the world. That connection between personal and universal stories makes "Cat Skin" a rare film.