Director: Julia Jackman
Stars: Emma Corrin, Charli xcx, Maika Monroe
If 2024 had the summer of brat (lowercase by design, of course), 2026 is shaping up to be a year-long cinematic fiesta for Charli xcx who has (at least) five movie appearances on the slate, as well as her soundtrack work for the upcoming “Wuthering Heights”. That’d be a lot for any established actor, and come the end of the year we may all be feeling a level of fatigue with the puckish British popstar. For the time being though, things are aces (picking David Cronenberg’s The Shrouds during her stint in the Criterion Closet recently didn’t hurt her credentials here any).
First up comes a bit of simple supporting work in Julia Jackman’s curious sophomore feature; an offbeat retelling of the One Thousand and One Nights as a queer, feminist fairy tale set in an imagined kingdom of bird-worshipping patriarchal tyranny that feels something like Margaret Atwood’s Republic of Gilead transposed to the Traitors castle under a sky pocked by three moons.
Cherry (Maika Monroe) is a beautiful wallflowerish young woman, recently married to woman-hating Jerome (Amir El-Masry), now under scrutiny because she hasn’t fallen pregnant (tough to do when her husband shows no interest in touching her). Jerome absconds for 100 nights having presented his roguish pal Manfred (Nicholas Galitzine) something of a wager. If Jerome manages to woo Cherry into bed, he’ll win the castle and all within it. If he fails, well, things won’t work out well for Cherry. Jerome finds his lusty intentions thwarted, however, by Cherry’s ‘best friend’ and faithful servant Hero (Emma Corrin), who distracts from his advances by telling a long and captivating story that seemingly makes the days and nights blur into one another.
There are layers of storytelling here (our Charli xcx crops up as one of the central figures in Hero’s ongoing story, though she has little to do, particularly), and the act of storytelling itself quickly becomes a measure of power, will and freedom. Just as in Hero’s unfurling tale, the kingdom looks down on affording women this luxury, branding it tantamount to witchcraft. 100 Nights of Hero presents reading and writing as true weapons of wisdom and independence to be feared. It wears it’s feminist credentials on it’s sleeve, no doubt, but more broadly – in an age in which the discipline of reading is on the wane – Jackman presents an encouragement to viewers to pick up a book and (re)discover these simple transportive marvels.
Corrin turns out to be the film’s sparkling crown jewel. Smart and crafty, Hero is far more adept at wooing Cherry, a more than adequate substitute for the often rather confused and sleepy himbo. What’s prominently lacking is any form of agency from Cherry herself. Though she’s introduced as a keen chess player and master of falconry, she’s rather frustratingly vacant for much of the picture, only really speaking up at the finale.
Here Jackman presents a refusal to capitulate with patriarchal mandates of shame and judgment as a romantic act of heroism. Even, whisper it, martyrdom. It’s a wistful presentation in-keeping with the movie’s penchant for spinning well-told stories. But beneath it there’s a nagging sense that we’ve been denied a better, sparkier ending, and that all that well-meaning romanticism can’t quite make up for yet another [redacted] ending.
More captivating is Jackman’s commitment to her presentation, which is decidedly and consistently offbeat. I’ve seen Wes Anderson come up as a reference point more than a few times, and there’s something in that for sure. The neatness of certain frames. The certain formal stiffness (albeit without Anderson’s airlessness). But there’s also a strong and particular sense of humour here that is Jackman’s own. And with Oliver Coates cushioning everything in delicious and twinkling synths, 100 Nights of Hero feels rather refreshingly other. That’s probably it’s greatest strength. This is defiantly individual filmmaking, and even if it doesn’t quite hit the heights it is aiming for (for this viewer, at least), it’s one among a growing number of distinct aberrations from the norm seen sneaking into multiplexes of late.
Not so much a movement. Nothing nearly as deliberate. More aptly redolent of a growing rejection of the kind of bland and boring conformity proffered by all the identikit IPs out there. That such movies are making their presence felt and finding screens is heartening. A sign that even the big cinema chains are starting to work out their value.
A few more stilted sapphic fantasies such as this will be fine by me.
The Lost Highway Hotel 