Alex Ross Perry's most technically accomplished and alienating film to date. Elizabeth Moss plays such an ego monster, I felt a palpable sense of relief whenever she wasn't onscreen—which, along with the burbling noise soundtrack, effectively puts you in the headspace of the other characters in the film. "Her Smell" also serves as a bittersweet homage to the last time guitar-based music had an impact on the culture.
Sound design really makes you feel like you are in the bowels of something (hell, prob), which must be what being underground venues is like. Then silence, and the potential for reflection, brings forward a nightmare of its own. Seems like Perry's most commanding creation yet - I could of taken another half an hour for that ending to really land. Loved the invocation of haunted-witch energy.
Will re-watch. A Shakespearean script - Moss speaks in soliloquies, projects onto others whole histories and dramas - her mates openly shout to an audience they hope will hear them - the 5-scene form - is something that might feel like Cassavetes, but also can't be. Editing, quite a task in this move, is superb. So is the unforgiving sound design. Deyn shines with Moss, who is, for me, the best of her generation.
Elizabeth Moss is a revelation here as fading punk star Becky Something. The problem is the character is so unlikable that the first hour is almost a chore to get through. The redemption angle in the second half plays better before its ham-fisted conclusion Interesting casting but a shame the script wasn't up to the same standards. And just how punk is Bryan Adams anyway? "Heaven"...really?
Why would anybody want to watch such self-destruction? You could apply that question to the audience, not just the characters, and the answer is Moss. She's frighteningly effective at seeming like a genuine waste case, not just an actress playing one. Perry doesn't have Cassavettes' skill at mining insight into people—this never opens the context like A Women Under the Influence. But the formal (sonic) arc is strong.
During the first half of the film, Becky Something is in full destruction mode: the mix of confusion, anger and alienation reminded me of Gena Rowlands in "A Woman Under the Influence". Then comes redemption and a completely new side to the character, not less devastating than the one we already knew. Elisabeth Moss is astonishing as ever, and Agyness Deyn was a wonderful surprise. Rock on, Alex Ross Perry!
Essentially unwatchable. Moss plays a one-note narcissistic, egomaniacal, grandiose rock star. She's turned up to 11 all the time, so we never have any reason to care about her. The plotting is so slow that the audience has far too long to get very tired of being in her entourage.
I've to be honest, the beggining atmosphere is precious, as well the all aesthetics and camera movements that was surronding the "crazy" Becky. I loved the VHS interludes and this vintage look. The thing is, in terms of narrative and shot election, it's a lil' bit confusing and sometimes boring.
Porté par la prestation intense d'Elisabeth Moss, Her Smell autopsie avec honnêteté la schizophrénie de son héroïne entre fureur toxique et désespoir apathique. Un trip résolument punk dans les méandres d'un vide existentiel aussi éprouvant que touchant. Chronique complète à lire sur Citazine : https://www.citazine.fr/article/her-smell-psyche-rock
Moss made me think of Courtney Love at times here. However, the performance is a great one (the best of the year perhaps) because it is it's own beast-scary, pathetic, at times annoying even but most of all, human even when the film goes on too long towards the end.
Elisabeth Moss as riot grrrrl punk bitch who devastates every single thing around her like a black hole. "Her Smell" is an ignonimiously rambanctious, delightfully schitzy tale about sacrilegious ego hypertrophizing to the infinitude. Dir. Perry dissects this psycholgy vehemently and adroitly, but still I'm surprised that there is deep kindness and warm bond between women. Perry's tumulturous epitome yet new frontier
Vox Lux is to Brady Corbet what Her Smell is to Alex Ross Perry: in both cases, the ambition to portrait the plight of major/minor rockstar leads nowhere. There you have a mass shooting survivor turned into Lady Gaga. Here, the queen of earth returns as an imploding Courtney Love. In both cases, the pulsating and hysterical first half is compromised by the sheer corniness of their respective third act.