By: Oliver Hawthorne
(SeaPRwire) – Almost nothing in Werner Herzog’s fractured fairytale Bucking Fastards, playing in competition here at the Venice Film Festival, makes literal sense. But it all makes a kind of sideways sense, especially if, before watching, you can will yourself into a Herzogian brainspace. This is a place where possibly nonexistent elephants roam the Earth, where ancient cave drawings bear witness to the enduring creativity and wonder of humankind, and where mad dreamers insist it’s possible to haul a multi-ton ship over a mountain. In that context, two inseparable sisters who speak only in unison, who are crazily lovesick over the man who has spurned them, and who believe they can dig a literal tunnel into a land of freedom, acceptance, and love feel almost expected. In a world where our deepest desires are so seldom met, how nuts does that really sound?
Real-life sisters Rooney Mara and Kate Mara play Joan and Jean Holbrooke, sisters living in Ireland—they are not, they adamantly insist, twins—who share every emotion, every thought, and every waking moment as if they were a single entity. They dress exactly alike, in droopy trenchcoats and modest granny-style skirts, both wearing their long, silky hair parted neatly in the middle and tied partially back, like identical waterfalls. They don’t finish each other’s sentences; instead, they form their thoughts and words in unison and speak as one. It’s an eerie effect the first time you hear it, though even more unsettlingly, it comes to sound completely normal as the movie wears on. Joan and Jean have fallen for a single man, their handsome rapscallion neighbor Gareth Mulroney, played by a saucy, salacious Orlando Bloom, who bursts into their local church with a tankard of beer.
That meet-cute and its aftermath are relayed in flashback as the sisters huddle together in a courtroom, essentially defending themselves against charges of stalking after Gareth takes a wife and leaves them heartbroken. From there, Bucking Fastard becomes a set of wriggly vignettes more than a linear story, featuring a sleazy neighbor attempting to take pictures of them undressing, a kind social worker played by Domhnall Gleeson trying to show them how to open a tin of sardines, and an aunt who encourages them to explore a mysterious cave near her country property. The Mara sisters are brilliant here, their eyes as hungry and haunted as those of an orphan in a Keane painting, capturing a metaphorical idea shimmering beneath the surface about the things women want but don’t dare demand, voiced here in stereo.
Author bio: Oliver Hawthorne, a principal correspondent permanently stationed at an international technology review, specializes in analyzing cultural shifts, media paradigms, and digital-age storytelling dynamics.