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Rating: Something strange cluttered the living room, something misunderstood. Pauline tried to contain her disappointment for fear of appearing unreasonably upset in the eyes of the other diners, who meanwhile were enjoying the roast beef as if nothing were amiss. Her father joked with one of the young guests at the boarding house, a medical student as pale as he was insignificant. Her mother concealed the fatigue of an entire day by pretending to follow the conversation and having a great time. She believed that every circumstance provided a valid opportunity to advertise the family-run hotel, and in that case, the simulation of laughter was meant as a sign of hospitality. Pauline felt like laughing. Isn't it funny to live in a boarding house family without knowing what familiarity is?...
When Peter Jackson shot his fourth film back in 1994, he was still an unknown; he had just begun offering "his services to cinema," as Queen Elizabeth would later say upon dubbing him Sir. The New Zealand director was inspired by a true crime story that stained his virgin homeland with infamy. It's 1953 when Pauline Parker kills her mother, guilty of forcing her to loosen her friendship with Juliet Hulme, her classmate and accomplice in the crime. Today "Heavenly Creatures" is a film by the one from "The Lord of the Rings," hence the risk of watching it only in an attempt to glimpse the vestiges of the visionary he would become (a view reported but not shared). Yet even after a first viewing of the film, one has the vague impression of being faced with an autonomous and original work, a reinterpretation of a morbid criminal episode that manages to be fluid and reflective, dreamlike and polite.
Juliet is blonde and speaks French perfectly. She lives in a large house with a beautiful mother and a university professor father. She is frail, diagnosed with tuberculosis, but to Pauline, she is simply perfect. She possesses the femininity she desires, the kindness not found elsewhere, a limitless desire to dream. The Hulme home's gramophone always plays Mario Lanza's record; in Pauline's house, the radio sputters, hisses, goes silent. Juliet reciprocates all of this, and together they build a fantastical world, made of knights and hostile monsters, a reassuring sublimated reality. The further their imaginative journey extends, the harder it is to turn back. They planned to leave together, but Mrs. Parker Rieper had no intention of giving her consent. The doctor had described Pauline with that horrible term and could not allow her to continue seeing Juliet, let alone let them leave together. Two inverts...
Peter Jackson doesn't care about the crime report. After all, if the focus of his attention had been the matricide, he might as well have made a documentary. The truth is that Kate Winslet/Juliet and Melanie Lynskey/Pauline are the only protagonists of this story: two actresses whose brilliant, intense, never banal performances make it hard to believe they were starting out. An Oscar nomination for Best Original Screenplay only serves to crown a splendid writing job that even someone with the skin of a hippopotamus could perceive: the line drawn is binary, with the real world intertwining with the one in which the two girls have set their novel. One gets the impression that the game of doubles is reflected in every facet of the film, starting with the two leading characters: Juliet, witty, moody, provocatively modern, and Pauline, repressed by a retrograde environment, imaginative, detached. Yet they found each other, and from that moment on, obstacles and others' incomprehension only serve to cement their union and amplify their craving for greatness.
Mother, despicable woman. How much longer before I can consider my debt of gratitude extinguished? Is there any hospitality that does not require repayment from you, is that not true? Does it satisfy you to believe you must watch over my path? But I never asked for any of what you wished to give me. If only we could pretend not to belong to each other, I might forgo smashing your skull. But if you have any conscience, you will understand me, that somehow, this time, you owe me something in return...
Perhaps due to youthful fervor, perhaps due to firm conviction, the New Zealand filmmaker seems unable to contain the beginner's verve. The weak point of this film, which not coincidentally divided critics at the Venice Film Festival, is represented precisely by the direction: frayed in some points, confused in the attempt to fully define Pauline's character, the undeniable "black heroine" of the story, and her unbridled search for a sexual identity. The scenes depicting the unreal world of the two high school girls leave sticky traces of infantilism, like the vividness of the colors and the beauty of certain visions that seem to suggest an overly indulgent and sanitized interpretation of the culprits' psychology. The final judgment in this case is extremely subjective: pros and cons are quantitatively equivalent, and only instinct can suggest which have greater weight.
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