Ms. 45 (1981, Abel Ferrara) (Patreon)

62/100

Wouldn't have guessed the subsequent trajectory of Ferrara's career from this surprising subversion of rape-revenge narratives. Even after Thana*, who unmistakably acted in self-defense, chooses not to call the police, instead sawing her rapist up and scattering his dismembered body parts across New York, I clung firmly to the expectation that we're meant to empathize entirely with her, perceiving her other victims as equally stained by Original Male Sin. Plus there's the muteness, which usually signifies purity. So the moment when I realized, "Oh, no no, she's fucking insane" was quite exciting. Might not have worked without Lund's startlingly chameleonic performance—she looks legitimately mousy at the outset, not Audrey-Hepburn-in-Funny-Face "mousy," and I was thoroughly unprepared for the transformation that eventually occurs (which Lund, deprived of dialogue, successfully brings off via body language as much as via makeup and wardrobe). It's funny, because I'd never paid any particular attention to Ms. 45 stills, nor recalled Lund from her small role in Bad Lieutenant; when she first appears, my reaction was "Huh, I'd always mentally pictured this film starring someone more like, I dunno, Gina Gershon." Badass incarnate. That Lund somehow gets there from the vicinity of Laura in The Glass Menagerie, without looking at all phony in either guise, is little short of miraculous. Credit also to Joe Delia's score, which sounds equally ominous performed on piano and (in a touch that really dates the film quite precisely) synthesizer. 

Still, I can't quite consider this first-rate, even by pulpy exploitation standards. For one thing, the inciting incidents...well, that's just it. Why are there two of them? Thana's apartment being burgled (by a criminal who's equally eager to commit rape) at the exact same time that someone else happens to be raping her, so that she staggers, already traumatized, from one nightmare straight into another, is a coincidence too staggering to swallow. I gather we're meant to assume that she snaps under the weight of that double violation, but it feels like overkill (heh) to me; remove either rape—preferably the one featuring Ferrara in a mask—and the film would play exactly the same, I suspect, except that I'd never have been mightily distracted by a blatant screenwriting contrivance. More of a problem are the murders themselves, many of which are bland verging on perfunctory. One could argue that this is intentional, perhaps, meant to forestall any identification on our part, except that (a) come on, we're talking about Abel Ferrara here, and more crucially (b) there are striking exceptions. Had all of the killings been as visually stylized as the one in the park, with four assailants converging on Thana in a perfect circle, as shot from overhead, I'd probably have adored this movie. Same if every victim were as compelling as the dude she picks up in a bar, who not only considers her muteness an open invitation to inflict a self-pitying monologue upon her but winds up taking responsibility for his own sudden death. As it is, though, sizable chunks of the second act are kinda blah, with way more attention than I'd prefer being paid to the nosy landlady (played by a renowned photographer who was also, I'm sorry, a truly terrible actor) and her corpse-sniffing dog. Can't say that I love the ending, either—it's certainly unexpected, but I for one didn't require posthumous evidence that Thana isn't a total monster. Had I seen Ms. 45 at the time of its release (and been older than 13), I'd likely have declared Ferrara a talent to watch, then taken credit for perspicacity when Bad Lieutenant dropped. (Or maybe King of New York, which I saw 30 years ago and need to revisit.) But it's too scattershot in its effectiveness to elicit a full-scale "Wow!"

ANCILLARY MATTER: This has no bearing whatsoever on my opinion of the film, but I'm mildly obsessed with a tiny detail of one scene's set design. When Thana and her coworkers encounter the asshole photographer in the diner—perfect example of a perfunctory killing, by the way—the booth at which he's seated features a small Halloween decoration: spooky owl atop a paper pumpkin. You can see it here.

Now, the film is set around Halloween, and its climax takes place at a Halloween party. So the decoration makes perfect sense. But that's still above and beyond what I'd expect from a no-budget movie like this one. Someone actually had to think "Hey, it's supposed to be right before Halloween—the diner's decor should reflect that. Where can we buy a little skeleton or something?" Hollywood movies employ people whose entire very lucrative job consists of paying close attention to such antiseptic matters—verisimilitude that most viewers won't consciously notice—but Ms. 45 almost certainly did not. (There's an art director, Ruben Masters, who has zero other IMDb credits. No production designer listed.) And this little owl-and-pumpkin combo is just so perfect, while also quite unobtrusive. Makes me wonder if perhaps the film was actually shot in late October of 1980 (so that the diner was already spruced up for the season) and that inspired the Halloween party, rather than the other way around. Anyway, I got fixated on it and now I share that pointless preoccupation with you.

* Unprepared for dorkily symbolic nomenclature, I misheard it as "Anna" for a while. Eventually got curious about what sounded like some kind of initial consonant and checked the subtitles. A mighty guffaw ensued.