A barely funded film, the only reason I even came to know of Helen's existence was under the recommendation of a trusted friend. It is the feature debut of film-making duo Lawlor and Molloy, previously known for a series of rule-dictated shorts; rules to which Helen also abides.
A seemingly uncomplicated story, Helen's eponymous character is a care- home raised college student struggling to get by in a world where she has known neither family nor friends. She is hired to play the part of Joy, a missing girl from her college, in a police reconstruction of her disappearance. As Helen reenacts the life of Joy, she sees a world she has never known, and finds herself considering her own identity.
The film's slow motion credits introduce us to the long takes, harrowing score, and unsettling beauty of what we are soon to see unfold. The eerie music which becomes synonymous with the central theme of identity is simultaneously uncomfortable and entrancing, drawing us into the film whilst giving the sense it may not always be a pleasant experience. Nay-sayers have cited some of the film's less convincing performances as a deterrent, but the central performance is sufficiently strong, and often moving, to hold everything together in the face of the amateur actors. The effect of the long takes is wonderfully gripping, helping us descend with this character to her new role, and drawing us into the splendour of the slow pacing. The cinematography is undoubtedly the film's area of expertise, the effulgence and mastery with which the directors convey that which goes unspoken truly fascinating and endearing. Townsend's performance meshes with the melancholy of her character, crafting a beautiful and heartbreaking impression of a girl lost in life. Her fragility and dark wistfulness is perfectly portrayed, giving us a realistic and relatable character.
A superbly shot piece bearing all the symptoms of genuinely transcendent cinema, Helen is an unforgettable film, and one which explores its ideas in a subtle, moving, and inspirational manner.
A seemingly uncomplicated story, Helen's eponymous character is a care- home raised college student struggling to get by in a world where she has known neither family nor friends. She is hired to play the part of Joy, a missing girl from her college, in a police reconstruction of her disappearance. As Helen reenacts the life of Joy, she sees a world she has never known, and finds herself considering her own identity.
The film's slow motion credits introduce us to the long takes, harrowing score, and unsettling beauty of what we are soon to see unfold. The eerie music which becomes synonymous with the central theme of identity is simultaneously uncomfortable and entrancing, drawing us into the film whilst giving the sense it may not always be a pleasant experience. Nay-sayers have cited some of the film's less convincing performances as a deterrent, but the central performance is sufficiently strong, and often moving, to hold everything together in the face of the amateur actors. The effect of the long takes is wonderfully gripping, helping us descend with this character to her new role, and drawing us into the splendour of the slow pacing. The cinematography is undoubtedly the film's area of expertise, the effulgence and mastery with which the directors convey that which goes unspoken truly fascinating and endearing. Townsend's performance meshes with the melancholy of her character, crafting a beautiful and heartbreaking impression of a girl lost in life. Her fragility and dark wistfulness is perfectly portrayed, giving us a realistic and relatable character.
A superbly shot piece bearing all the symptoms of genuinely transcendent cinema, Helen is an unforgettable film, and one which explores its ideas in a subtle, moving, and inspirational manner.