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Puffball
A young architect renovating a country cottage falls pregnant and provokes the ire of her rural neighbours who are desperate for a child. Drama with supernatural undertones from legendary British director Nicolas Roeg, adapted from the novel by Fay Weldon
By rights, a new film from Nicolas Roeg should be a major national event. Forever defined by his 1970s run of near and actual masterpieces - Performance, Walkabout, Don't Look Now and The Man Who Fell to Earth, Roeg's shape-shifting narratives teem with fractured identity, heady eroticism and genuine otherworldliness. He and his work are defiantly sui generis, very un-British, which is perhaps why he, like another singular UK director Terence Davies, remains the proverbial prophet without honour (or at least sufficient industry backing) in his native country. All of which all sounds very noble, until you actually see Puffball, Roeg's first film in over a decade. Many of Roeg's preoccupations are present and politically incorrect - ethereal mysticism, existential threat, frank sexuality - but haphazardly strung together. There's evidently a fine line between fragmented storytelling and pieces that just don't fit. It's as if an acolyte set out to emulate the master, using all the tricks but possessing little of the real magic. The story, remarkably linear by Roeg standards, comes from a 1980 Fay Weldon novel, adapted by her son Dan and relocated from Somerset to rural Ireland, presumably for film-funding reasons. We follow successful young architect Liffey (Reilly), renovating a derelict cottage in a backwoods valley. Unexpectedly falling pregnant by her visiting boyfriend Richard (Pearce), Liffey inadvertently rouses the anger of the local matriarchal farm clan led by Mabs (Richardson) and her batty old mother Molly (Tushingham). Seems Mabs wants a scion to inherit the farm; and Molly, who dabbles in black magic, has a more sinister reason for wanting a new baby boy in the family. So Liffey's unborn son will do. This should all offer Roeg a lot to sink his teeth into but as with the eponymous swollen fungus, there's less to chew on that one might imagine. The voodoo rituals are confused and the potent themes of fertility and alienation never build into a cohesive whole. The occasional scene has subtle composition or a quiet power, notably a dream sequence that shifts into horror territory, but for once Roeg's aversion to genre labels backfires. The film itself isn't sure it wants to be scary or tender, sexy or tragic, aiming for the lot but often ending up missing them all. It isn't helped by a roster of performances ranging from competent to unconvincing. Reilly in particular never makes you share her predicament. Old Roeg male Donald Sutherland popping up in a cameo only contrasts the great work the director drew from previous casts, including the best - only? - decent screen acting from music legends Mick Jagger and David Bowie in Performance and The Man Who Fell to Earth respectively. The climax is as shrill as a daytime soap and the soundtrack, by three separate composers no less, a mish-mash of blarney and thuddingly obvious suspense cues. Verdict Almost all Nicolas Roeg's films have gathered cult status after an initially muted reception but it's hard to imagine Puffball emulating their fate. Avid fans might find some pleasure; everyone else will be left blowing in the wind. |
