pretentious girl

hi hello welcome to my mind palace. this is a place for all of my musings and thoughts and opinions about anything and everything. the inner machinations of my mind are an enigma, or something like that.

lover of art, cats, 1960/70s medieval revival, freaky films, solitude.

21+. dni - terfs, racists, bigots, zionists, assholes. liberal with the block button.

yesterday, i saw julia ducournau's third film, alpha, for the second time. i knew after my first viewing that this is a film that needs to be seen (in a theater) more than once. and i was right. it hit so much harder.

the film follows the titular alpha, a troubled 13 year old girl who gets a (seemingly nonconsensual) tattoo at a party. this single decision opens the floodgates of generational trauma, repressed memories, and overall dreariness in to her home. alpha lives with her single mother, a doctor, who is terrified that her daughter has caught a vicious bloodborne illness that turns its victims into stone. after she gets her tattoo, alpha's uncle, amin, shows up, claiming that he is staying with alpha and her mother to get clean.

what ensues is an incredibly compelling exploration of generational trauma, mother daughter relationships, the ways in which seemingly mundane childhood memories haunt us, and the tragic effects of systemic othering.

alpha's mother is certain that her daughter has the virus, and gets her a tetanus vaccine, and a test for the virus, immediately. at home, she can't escape the possibility that she might be sick. she can't escape her uncle, who is sleeping in her room, who is another reminder of the illness. at school, alpha is treated like a total pariah, as if she is already dead. it's not her fault that the tattoo is infected, and not healing properly. but her classmates treat her as if she is barely human, scooting their desks away from her and freaking out when she gets blood on a volleyball during gym class. she cannot escape this one thing that makes her Different.

and that is something that i can very much relate to. regardless of what it is, when you have something that sets you apart, it is simultaneously something that you are desperate to escape from, and something that you can never outrun. it permeates your consciousness, and completely colors your worldview. and while it doesn't define who you are...that can be a really difficult thing to remember. throughout my life, i have often felt like anybody could take one single look at me and immediately tell that there is something that sets me apart, as if i have a big blinking neon billboard on my forehead, advertising my trauma and the things that i have been through. and while it isn't nearly as overt for alpha, her shame and trauma is displayed right there on her skin, for everyone to see.

when it's revealed that the test came back negative, and alpha doesn't have the virus...it doesn't really get better. alpha's mother doesn't believe the results. amin insists upon leaving their apartment, but alpha's mother (who is nameless) won't let him. amin and alpha sneak out of her window, and go on a midnight escapade around the city, interrupting soccer practices and going to clubs where nearly everybody is sick and turning to stone. (this scene also includes an absolutely incredible needle drop moment to the song the mercy seat by nick cave - julia ducournau is incredible at many things, and needle drop moments are one of them).

this film utilizes nonlinear storytelling in an absolutely genius way. we follow alpha, her mother, and amin in the present day, and the color palette of these scenes is so dreary. think dark blues and greys (kind of like the first twilight movie, but significantly more tasteful). but we also follow alpha's mother in the past, when alpha is 5, and the color palette is warm and vibrant and inviting (lots of yellows, oranges, and pinks). this contrast is so so striking, and such an interesting way to communicate the psyches and perspectives of the characters. there is a certain amount of hope in the flashback scenes that the present day scenes do not possess. in the past, the virus is in full swing, more or less at its height. people are terrified of it, including hospital workers, really only leaving alpha's mother and one nurse to take care of everybody. this is no doubt an allegory to the aids/hiv epidemic, and it is tied in to this story so beautifully. ducournau is forcing us to face the fact that so so so many people were left behind during the height of the aids crisis. from 1981 to 1990, approximately 100,777 people (mostly men) died, while the united states government did absolutely nothing. and while ducournau herself is french, i have no doubt that this is the kind of thing that would leave an impression on any young person at the time.

this adds a very interesting queer angle to the story, which is a prevalent theme in all of julia ducournau's films. we don't know if any of the characters in this film are explicitly queer, though i do think that there is a bit of an implied homosexuality with amin. i think that one could also apply this interpretation to the scenes of alpha being othered by her classmates. but ultimately, there are about a bajillion different ways to interpret and interact with the themes that this film is conveying. in the flashback scenes, amin overdoses many times, and every time, alpha's mother brings him back. she refuses to give up on him. and while that is touching and beautiful, it is also so tragic, because it is later revealed that amin has the virus, and that his back is nearly all stone, his blood turned to red sand. this adds another incredibly interesting question to a film already teeming with visual metaphors and philosophical inquiries. do we have the right to save people who don't want to be saved? do we have the right to save people who explicitly ask us not to? the film opens up with a scene of amin and 5 year old alpha in a motel room. amin is actively attempting to overdose, and alpha is playing connect-the-dots with his injection sites. this scene is also where, in the final act of the film, the two storylines converge. alpha (13) is on a bus with her uncle, and he tells her that he needs to take something to come down. he makes her promise that, whatever happens, she will not wake him up. two storylines become one, and alpha's mother rushes to the hotel room that her daughter and brother are at. she bursts in, consoles her daughter, and shuts her away in the bathroom. alpha (5) watches through the cracked open door. amin expresses to his sister that the risk of a secondary infection doesn't matter because he's already caught the biggest fish, and with what he is about to take, there is no after. he tells his sister that he doesn't want to end up in the hospital with the rest of the victims of the illness. they cry, they hug, they say goodbye, and alpha's mother injects her brother with whatever drug he was planning on overdosing with. but eventually, her guilt gets the better of her, and she wakes amin up. his response is heartbreaking - "didn't we already say goodbye?" it's then revealed that amin is dead. he died in the hospital, surrounded by sick people, the illness slowly chipping away at his humanity. he goes out in the exact way he didn't want to. it's heartbreaking to think about how he must have felt, laying there, slowly witnessing his body decay while his mind stayed sharp. alpha's mother tries to bring him back one last time while he flatlines in front of her, but his gaze with his one good eye is bone-chilling, and it stops her in her tracks. the rest of his body turns to stone, and alpha's mother lies down with him, weeping.

julia ducournau has described alpha as a ghost story, and i think that it is very important to keep that in mind while watching this film. upon my first viewing, the twist came so abruptly i barely registered it. on the second viewing, though, there were so many things that i had missed the first time around that allude to the fact that amin isn't really there. he is a shared delusion between mother and daughter, a physical manifestation of guilt and grief. he is proof that the past never leaves us. even though alpha was so little when he died, and barely remembers him, that memory still lives in her body. the body will always keep the score.

julia ducournau's films are harrowing and full of body horror. i think that she is an absolute master of crafting narratives that use the body as a way to explore incredibly complicated feelings. i don't think that there is anything more personal than our own bodies, and ducournau uses that to her advantage in all three of her films - raw, titane, and alpha.