Violet & Daisy hits Blu-ray, DVD, and digital platforms simultaneously on Nov. 19th from Cinedigm.
I should he honest upfront and say that this movie is most definitely an acquired taste. It’s a deeply strange movie, and its offbeat nature won’t appeal to everyone. But personally, I kinda dug it.
I love being surprised, and I love it when movies aren’t afraid to get weird. So I was pleasantly surprised by just how weird this movie was willing to get. Honestly, I’m not even sure how to classify it. I suppose it could be considered a dark comedy. It’s quite often very amusing, even if it never quite ventures into the territory of full-on hilarious. But then there’s a deep core of sorrow that permeates the entire picture.
The writer/director, Geoffry Fletcher, was the screenwriter for Precious, a movie I have not seen, and if my luck tempted to check it out now, because of the way he nails the tone. Tone is a tricky thing, and to this movie’s credit, it balances its unlikely mix of whimsy, surreality, violence, and deep emotional pain with an ease that’s borderline unbecoming.
On paper, this movie looks like another one of those self-consciously “hip” hitman comedies that were so fashionable post-Tarantino. But except for the ironic use of a certain Juice Newton song in the opening scene, this avoids all the cheap pitfalls of these types of films. It’s never glib about the loss of life (even when some of the characters are), and it doesn’t substitute quirk for character (though, yes, there is certainly quirk).
There is a remarkable lack of sexualization here, as well. Now, when discovering that the movie is about two young, attractive female assassins, your mind could go to all sorts of inappropriate places. But the movie isn’t playing so predictable a game. Because what we’re dealing with are some straight-up little girl assassins.
What I mean when I say that is Violet and Daisy look to be in high school (a point is made that Violet has just turned eighteen), but act more like overly excited twelve years olds. Their biggest concern is saving up enough money to buy dresses from a pop singers new fashion line (Said singer is called Barbie Sunday, which sounds more like the name of a riot grrrl trio than the bubblegum pop the creators seem to want to invoke, but I’ll allow it).
Aside from a scene with Alexis Bledel in a bath towel explaining her concept of Heaven to James Gandolfini (and even that doesn’t play quite as salacious as it sounds), they’re not portrayed in any real way as sexual beings, aside from a tragic implication that’s never directly said out loud.
That kind of restraint and subtlety tend to make up for the occasional too cutesy line of dialogue, or the conceit of Daisy, Violet (and former partner Rose) all being named after flowers. It’s always worthy of note when a movie unfolds its themes without trying to bludgeon you to death with them, and Violet and Daisy does very well for itself in that regard. Obviously, daddy issues loom large. But there are certain events, certain pieces of backstory that are implied rather than out and out explained, which is always nice.
That subtlety extends to the acting, too. Smartly, Fletcher has his actors throw away most of the funny lines. You’d be surprised how heavy people tend to lean on laugh lines in movies like this, practically shouting in your ear “HEY!! Look how hilarious and offbeat we can be!” But the light touch here makes even the clunkiest line at least tolerable, and that’s to the credit of the actors.
I can’t say that I’m familiar with Alexis Bledel past her tiny role in Sin City and the five minutes of Gilmore Girls I was able to make it through, but the very sight of her led me to assume that she was miscast. Instead, she’s a revelation in the role of Violet. It’s a tricky role to play, being world weary, immature, deeply disturbed and ultimately broken in ways we can’t imagine, and she aces it. If nothing else, her delivery of the line “They’re ALL fat, beeyotch!” makes the whole thing worthwhile.
Saoirse Ronan is just as good, if not quite as surprising, because this isn’t really anything she hasn’t pulled off before. It’s actually a clever inversion in her role in Hanna: the stunted hitgirl. But whereas Hanna has never been a child, Ronan’s Daisy has been nothing but a child. Since Ronan’s particularly gifted at embodying the whole emotionally stunted, “not a girl, not yet a woman” thing, she doesn’t even break a sweat.
The film is basically a three-hander, a roundelay between Daisy, Violet, and Gandolfini’s Michael, their latest target, but there’s a couple of familiar faces marking time in the margins.
Danny Trejo shows up just long enough to make it onto the DVD cover, and not a minute longer. Marianne Jean-Baptiste shows up for roughly the same amount of time as Trejo, in the role of a fellow assassin. She has little to do with anything, really, but she’s good as always, and in any case it’s always a pleasure to see her.
And James Gandolfini… Fuck.
I really miss James Gandolfini.
I’m tempted to leave it at that, because we all know how good he is… was (again: fuck), but it’s just that he was so singular. Nobody in history has ever been able to convey his mix of longing, fury, gentleness, and bone deep despair. I’ve heard people compare him to Marlon Brando (which, I’m guessing is a weight thing… not cool people), but Brando was essentially a crude, soulful weirdo. There’s nothing weird about Gandolfini. He’s always heartbreakingly human in a way Brando never was.
Gandolfini does a remarkable job of playing straight man to all the strangeness around him. He grounds a movie that, if he and everybody else hadn’t been on the ball, could have easily been a mess.
If you’re looking for a wacky, sexy, morally bankrupt comedy about hot chicks with guns, this is most decidedly not that.
It’s something better.
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