Review by
Eric Hillis
Directed by: Midi Z
Starring: Wu Ke-xi, Vivian Sung, Kimi Hsia, Shih Ming-shuai, Tan Chih-wei
Once the sole province of the grindhouse, movies centred around sexual
assault have moved into the arthouse sphere in recent years with the
likes of
Violation,
Holiday
and
Rose Plays Julie. Continuing this trend is director Midi Z's
Nina Wu, which incorporates that classic arthouse staple of confused and
merging identities (see Bergman's Persona, Altman's
Images
or Lynch's
Mulholland Drive) to examine the psychological fallout of an actress trading her body
and soul for a coveted lead role.
The script is co-written by Z's regular onscreen collaborator, actress
Wu Ke-xi, who drew inspiration from her own experiences
negotiating the Taiwanese film industry as a rising young female star.
Ke-xi also plays the eponymous Nina Wu, who has spent the past six years
attempting to make it as an actress in Taipei, having moved there from
rural Taiwan. Her biggest role to date was a one-word part in Luc
Besson's Lucy, and so Nina earns a living by performing as a cam-girl, though rather
than engaging in sexual acts she charges men to watch her eat dinner
while wearing a tight corset and heavy makeup.
Nina's chance of a big break comes when her agent contacts her about an
upcoming lead role in a period thriller. Trouble is, the part requires
full frontal nudity, which makes Nina hesitant. Bullied by her agent,
Nina agrees to attend an audition. It's at this point that the movie
begins to pull the rug out from underneath us, causing us to question if
what we're seeing is reality, or Nina's hallucinations, or scenes from
the film she's starring in. Such skillful blurring by director Z and
editors Matthieu Laclau and Tsai Yann-shan is exemplified by a cut from Nina's audition
to her walking a street at night, bawling her eyes out. Just as we
assume she's flunked the audition we hear her director yell "Cut!" and
we realise we're on the set of the movie that Nina is now starring
in.
Nina has achieved her long term goal, but at what price? Thanks to an
abusive director who engages in physically abusive William
Friedkin-esque techniques to mine a performance from Nina, the shoot
appears to a living nightmare. At one point she is almost killed when
oil barrels on a barge explode, throwing her into the sea. But Nina gets
through it and becomes a star. It's then that she finds herself haunted
and taunted by a mysterious young woman (Kimi Hsia) who appears
in her dreams and possibly even in her reality. Returning to her
hometown, Nina finds herself unable to escape this figure who seems to
represent some sort of shame or guilt. Just what did Nina do to win such
a coveted lead role?
Z and Ke-xi refuse to tackle their thorny subject in an easily
digestible fashion. Played with a quiet fury by Ke-xi, Nina is never
painted as a one-note victim, and the movie hints that she may be
complicit in whatever indiscretion is slowly driving her mad.
Nina Wu dares to suggest that for every male producer
looking to take advantage of a young actress, there are several young
women willing to sell their body and soul for a chance at fame, as seen
in a degrading scene where a producer orders Nina and another budding
starlet to act like dogs and tear each other's clothes off to win a
part. It's implied that Nina may have traded her body without realising
she would lose her soul and her sanity in the process.
Essentially a rape-revenge thriller that never offers its heroine a
shot of revenge, Nina Wu eschews the grimy aesthetic
associated with such films for a polished sheen that echoes the high
society world it takes place in. DOP Florian Zinke's camera
glides along with Nina as she traverses the corridors of upmarket hotels
and sprawling film sets, and clever in-camera switcheroos of the like
seen in Altman's Images add to the sense that Nina is
losing her identity as fiction, reality and dreams blur seamlessly into
one. By the end you may feel compelled to start the movie from the
beginning to look out for clues as to just what the real truth of the
narrative is, but I suspect the answers won't come any easier.
