[Review] Grimmfest Easter: The Woman With The Leopard Shoes
Alexis Bruchon’s bare-bones The Woman With The Leopard Shoes is a claustrophobic work of film noir. Its lighting and setting are evocative. Given the sparse environment, the director’s shot coverage is inventive. Bruchon’s touch guides the entire narrative, as he took on most of the production duties himself (not including catering or composing the opening title track). In his hands is Paul Bruchon, the protagonist. Bruchon’s introduction as the nameless burglar sets the mood. Wearing a hood over his face, he accepts an offer from an unknown woman to steal a mysterious box from a man named Louis Boyer. His job is compromised immediately once he learns of a party that is taking place at the Boyer residence. From there, several details emerge that suggest his misfortune might actually be a set-up.
Set in the present day, the film nonetheless has a manic, expressionistic style that is reminiscent of the nouvelle vague and the work of John Frankenheimer and Alfred Hitchcock. The latter director is referenced specifically in a playful set of scenes which take place in the bathroom of the Boyer residence, calling back to Psycho. This heavy genre representation does wonders for the story and its construction of the burglar’s heightened anxiety. He is essentially trapped in a room for most of the runtime, reliant on his own wits as he fends off the police and curious party guests while he investigates the shady dealings of the woman who hired him. And it certainly doesn’t help matters that he quickly stumbles onto a dead body. The horror of each passing moment is not lost on the audience, as we are consistently pulled from corner to corner trying not to get caught alongside Bruchon’s burglar.
Though it runs a little under 80 minutes, the narrative at times struggles to sustain itself. For every new revelation about the identity of the titular woman, the dead man, and the many conspirators to crimes committed beforehand, there are lapses in logic that remain unaccounted for. Still, for a no-budget film noir, each beat plays out surprisingly well. There are also exciting shifts in the power dynamic between the lowly burglar and his bosses that play out via the exchange of text messages. The film’s cinematography revels in the obscurity of deep shadows, and there is very little dialogue, yet this is what makes each move feel urgent. While we lack emotional vocal inflections during these text conversations, Bruchon’s bugged-out eyes and skittish body language do most of the talking.
Plot contrivances aside, the film’s attitude and attention to detail alone make it worth seeking out. Not a single shot is taken for granted here, as Bruchon, the director, seizes every opportunity to experiment. And these experiments are always in service to the protagonist. This film is a tense exercise in escalating drama that is essentially a one-man show. Bruchon, the burglar, is incredibly sympathetic by virtue of being stuck in an impossible situation. And the filmmaking meets the challenges he faces with clever solutions.
