The Balconettes

Portrait of a Lady on Fire star Noémie Merlant wrote and directed this feminist black comedy (Portrait and Petite Maman director Celine Sciamma collaborated on the screenplay) set in Marseille in the midst of a heatwave. Roommates Nicole (Sanda Codreanu) and Ruby (Souheila Yacoub) are joined by their actress friend Elise (Merlant), looking to escape her over-attentive husband. A minor parking incident provides an excuse to get to know the hunky neighbour in the apartment across the courtyard but this does not end well (certain body parts are severed), and the friends elect to cover their tracks…

Shot in the hot, saturated style of Pedro Almodóvar and Spike Lee’s Do the Right Thing, The Balconettes swings back and forth between exuberant comedy to blood-spattered midnight movie. Nicole (Codreanu) plays an aspiring novelist who’s on the receiving end of stinging rebukes from her (male) writing teacher, and the movie probably wouldn’t get a good grade from him. But it has an anarchic quality which runs hand in hand with its boldly feminist vision.

A rowdy, richly imagined portrait of three ladies on fire. A splashy female-driven ensemble comedy that gradually morphs into a graphically gory, darkly funny, great feminist horror bloodbath. The film covers an ambitiously broad range of pulpy genres, comic registers and political messages.

The Film Verdict

A primal scream of a movie, a boisterous romp that redefines how female bodies are depicted. Rejects the male gaze by inviting the characters to reclaim its oppressive hyper-sexualization on their own terms. This film is an Almodóvar-florid sex farce, as you might glean from its manic energy and sweltering pastel colors, but it’s also 100 different things on top of that. It leans into the tonal chaos, creating an impressively layered genre mishmash that reflects the complex reality of how women are seen in the world, and how they see themselves in return. B+

David Ehrlich, Indiewire

Exuberant, funny and bold, a real testament to the power of female friendship seen through farce and horror tropes.

Savina Petkova, The Film Stage