Deborah Haywood’s debut delivers a whimsical gut-punch
Drawing from the experiences of British director Deborah Haywood, Pin Cushion is a debut feature that packs a personal punch. It’s a story about a mother and daughter, tightly bonded to each other, moving to a new town for a fresh start. Lyn (Joanna Scanlan), a meek and tender soul, bears the burden of physical disabilities, a hunchback and one leg shorter than the other. She derives joy from her daughter Iona (a luminous Lily Newmark), a caring child, albeit one who has grown up in a rather sheltered, quirky environment.
Their lives enter a new phase when Iona begins school and finds she is completely ill equipped to handle the social changes that come with it. An early, intimate bond formed with fellow outsider Daz (Loris Scarpa) is soon swept aside as a trio of popular girls led by queen bee Keeley (Sacha Cordy-Nice) bring her into their social circle, their intentions not entirely benign. Eager to fit in, her behavior changes, much to the dismay of Lyn, who is struggling with her own issues of self-confidence. A wedge forms between mother and daughter, and the cruelty each of them face in their own lives begins to take its toll.
It’s quite normal when attending a film festival such as Fantastic Fest to be affected by a film. To be exhilarated, grossed out, or unsettled. There are the occasional few that you find hard to shake afterwards. Pin Cushion is such a film, one that is reminiscent of another of its ilk, Mood Indigo. Both begin with a visual flourish, blithely sweet characters, and wonderful flourishes of detail and charm, before charting a downward descent hitting home with a powerful emotional thud. While Mood Indigo shows the fall of its leads through ignorance and indulgence, Pin Cushion charts the erosive effects of bullying.
The pair lead a sweet, if unorthodox, life. Wearing quirky, uncoordinated outfits, sharing a bed, drinking tea out of mugs monogrammed with their nicknames, Dafty One and Dafty Two. It all feels like something out of a Roald Dahl novel. Lyn (Joanna Scanlan) is a woman who has withdrawn from life, or perhaps been battered into submission. A woman who apologies for even opening her mouth, you want to shake some sense into her, as much as you want to give her a hug. She’s brutally aware of how cruel the world can be, raising her daughter in something of a cocoon. While this has strengthened their bond, it has left Iona grossly unprepared for the world. This tender soul soon finds herself being groomed for a fall, her vulnerability sensed and exploited by schoolmates. Her imagination once taking her to dreams, now she loses her mind in nightmares.
While clearly a condemnation of callous cruelty, the film doesn’t paint things as black and white, instead depicting how our society sadly works sometimes. The strong exploit the weak, not just out of perversion but to safeguard their own position. Similarly many will not speak up for fear of drawing attention to themselves. Haywood treads a fine balance that only adds to the film’s authentic exploration of its themes, touching on the mother-daughter dynamic, while weaving in a coming of age tale and examining how bullying crosses generational boundaries. The real key to the potency of Pin Cushion is how it invests you in this mother-daughter relationship, greatly aided by a anchoring performance from Joanna Scanlan and delicate work by Lily Newmark. You buy into their bond, you break when they do, and you feel how desperate both of them are to make a connection. It’s a raw emotional core to a film that embraces a vivid sense of whimsy. Cinematographer Nicola Daley and Production Design by Francesca Massariol lend to a disarming, chintzy aesthetic, one that deceives you as to the full impact of what’s unfolding until it’s too late.
Pin Cushion charms with its whimsy, then delivers a gut-punch of hurt, one tempered with a gasp of hope. It’s a film driven by talented women on both sides of the camera that speaks to us all. It offers comfort to those who have experienced similar pain, while serving as a resonant lesson to anyone who has dealt out such callous cruelty. Haywood blends authenticity with creativity to craft an intensely personal film. A moving and moral piece of poetry, reminding us a little kindness is easy to give, for some, it’s all they need.
