Spencer

Spencer ★★★★★

I loved this so much, like I love films that are alive like that. Alive as it it reminds you it’s a film, the private orchestra and church organs playing Greenwood’s soundtrack, the soundtrack reminding you what it is with a ‘squeak squeak’ as it mimics a visual of a tap handle; alive as Diana asks how she’ll be written about in ten years time. It’s gracefully self-referential and knowing of its life as a film, especially significant considering this as a film motivated by someone else’s life. It’s camera is alive too, dancing with a dizziness and intrusion reminiscent of Nuytten’s in Possession (Spencer is, at times, incredible horror). Alive as Stewart flexes, so early on, her Chanel glasses and bag (Diana’s clothes here, but tangled with the real image of Stewart as a Chanel ambassador) - Larraín understands - for a role like Diana - the actress is important and suddenly I’m obsessed with Kristen Stewart, in Chanel, taking off her heels at Cannes.

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