Tag Archives: fest-opener

The opening scene of Sean Durkin’s debut feature Martha Marcy May Marlene suggests we’re in for a big rusty bread pan’s worth of rural miserablism, and even though we’re not, the yeasty grayness of those early moments is clearly intentional: A group of women in drab dresses and droopy T-shirts go about preparing dinner in a house whose unfinished interior looks either new and hastily erected or ancient and about to fall apart — it’s hard to tell which. A young boy stomps about in a dusty, scrubby yard; a woman sits on the porch working on a crocheted afghan. When dinner’s ready, a bunch of men sit down to eat; then they leave the table — the man who appears to be the leader murmurs something appreciative about the meal — and the women take their places. Then there’s one lone shot of a ton of dirty dishes jumbled into and around the kitchen sink — there’s no question who’s going to be scouring them clean. It’s as if Amishtown had been taken over by a nicer version of the Manson family.

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REVIEW: Elizabeth Olsen Beguiles in Martha Marcy May Marlene