Lizzie Review

Lizzie
Massachusetts, 1892. Spirited Lizzie Borden (Chloë Sevigny) and her overbearing father Andrew (Jamey Sheridan) are deeply at odds. After maid Maggie (Kristen Stewart) joins the family and embarks on a sexual relationship with Lizzie, the girls’ antipathy towards the family patriarch (and wife Abby) degenerates into something far more lethal.

by Liz Moody |
Published on
Release Date:

14 Dec 2018

Original Title:

Lizzie

Director Craig William Macneill follows up debut feature The Boy with this true story of Lizzie Borden (Chloë Sevigny), implicated in the brutal murders of tyrannical father Andrew (Jamey Sheridan) and stepmother Abby (Fiona Shaw) in Fall River, Massachusetts, in 1892.

Lizzie

Locally at least, Borden’s grisly story swiftly became the stuff of legend, and Macneill’s retelling doesn’t stint on its gruesome aspects. Sevigny’s Lizzie is an intense, mercurial creature, blessed with a droll wit and given to fits, which the family call “spells”. Repressed by convention and societal expectations, the focus of her inner rage and frustration is her father, the pair engaged in a strange and toxic dance of push and pull. Into the mix comes maid ‘Maggie’ (Kristen Stewart) — whose actual name is Bridget, changed by her employer, symbolic of his ownership of the girl; a power that quickly extends to abuse and rape. There’s an instant attraction, if not quite bond, between Lizzie and Bridget, the girls finding solace in each other, a comfort that soon develops into something sexual. And dangerous.

Macneill effectively evokes the poisonous nature of this pressure-cooker household, its malignant atmosphere enhanced by Jeff Russo’s foreboding score. The effect is unsettling, and the murders, when they come, frenzied, graphic and truly shocking. There are certainly timely themes here, not least that of female oppression — both Lizzie and her lover are violated by the family patriarch in different ways. Yet it is here that the message becomes muddled. Lizzie, although on the one hand justified in her anger, is also portrayed as disproportionately vicious, possibly even psychopathic. Too often the tone slides into lurid melodrama, while clunky visual metaphors (birds, both trapped and free, recur, as does the washing of windows) jar. Still, the central performances from Sevigny and Stewart are compelling, with Shaw, Sheridan and O’Hare in strong support, adding up to an arresting if far from comfortable piece.

An absorbing, well-acted psychological thriller that loses its grip as it slips into sensationalism.
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