Daisy Edgar-Jones'
2022 in Film
Daisy Edgar-Jones'
2022 in Film
Like many of us, my first encounter with Daisy Edgar-Jones was in Normal People, the BBC adaptation of Sally Rooney’s book of the same name. Throughout, Edgar-Jones embodied the tensions at the heart of Marianne, the simultaneous desires to connect both platonically and sexually but also to contract and withdraw from social situations were expertly conveyed through subtle body language and a seemingly effortless chemistry with Paul Mescal’s Connell. However, after such a notable performance, her image arguably became one more of Marianne than Daisy Edgar-Jones. Thus, the projects she chose next would be key to building her emerging star persona.
The first of those projects marked her return to feature films in the genre-bending Fresh, a film that begins as a sort of romantic comedy but soon shows its hand as a full-blown horror. Conversely, her other theatrical appearance this year is as Kya in Where the Crawdads Sing, a book adaptation which despite revolving around a central mysterious death, acts more as a memoir that narrates Kya’s youth and early adulthood living in marshland in North Carolina. Both stories to an extent diversify Edgar-Jones’ on-screen persona, she is no longer the quiet middle-class girl from Sligo but now a reclusive, formally uneducated woman of the marshes and a young adult who is disillusioned with online dating. Yet, beyond mere appearances, the overall quality and reception of a film can also bear much weight on a given actors role within the fast-moving media industry. So, how do these films stack up unto themselves?
FRESH
FRESH
Like the American sister to Takashi Miike’s Audition, Fresh is a feminist horror that begins with an extended prologue that plays more like a romantic comedy. As Daisy Edgar-Jones’ Noa traverses the world of online dating, she meets insecure
WHERE THE CRAWDADS SING
Where the Crawdads Sing begins with the promise of a murder mystery but instead becomes an exercise in memoir and screenplay tropes. The film tells the story of Kya from
childhood to her early adulthood in 1968 where she
suddenly finds herself on trial for murder. Told mostly in
flashback and through largely uninspired narration by
Kya herself, the film paints a picture of a child who had
to survive almost entirely independently in the wild
marshland, an outcast not by choice but through familial
betrayal and societal rejection. Yet for a film mostly set
in the wilderness, it is all rather too clean and sanitised.
The film almost begs to create an atmosphere by
invoking the humid air, the squelchy land, the sounds of
nature and the cosy shack that resides within it. Yet
instead, the viewer is confronted with the well-oiled
machinations of a Hollywood production.
Whilst David Strathairn attempts to give weight to his role as Kya’s defence attorney, the dialogue simply feels too artificial and rehearsed to hold emotional resonance, embodying the typical virtuous lawyer and not much else. Similarly, Edgar-Jones can never truly inhabit her role as Kya as the production design keeps her separate from the environment rather than showing the intertwined-ness of the two that the screenplay claims. Moreover, even the romance feels largely maudlin and structured - punctuated through gifts of hand-picked feathers and secret meetings in secluded locations, the development of Kya’s romance is simply not messy enough to feel relatable.
Kya finds friends in local shop owners Mabel and “Jumpin” Madison, a kind-hearted couple who look out for her when no one else will. Yet as a black couple in a largely white town in 1960s America, there is little to no acknowledgement of their place within society. Whilst this need not be explained in detail as it is not necessarily the focus of the story, this absence is emblematic of the film’s treatment of the era as it nostalgically gazes into the past without wholly engaging with the more disturbing problems that pervaded it. This is not to say that the film is devoid of all darkness as there are certainly moments of violence and traumatic images, it is simply that when these moments occur, they feel insubstantial, providing little more than gestures toward ideas of gendered violence and acting more as plot development than character or thematic depth. Overall, the film wears its functionality on its sleeve and is thus simply too plain to provide anything more than an evening’s distraction.
WHERE THE CRAWDADS SING
and uninspiring men. Yet, when almost ready to give up, Sebastian Stan’s Steve shows up. If you think it seems too good to be true, well it is. This sinister undercurrent is not conveyed through stock shock music but instead cleverly layered throughout with uncanny close-ups, Dutch angles and crimson red lighting. Thus, when the film does turn into a twisted, gory thriller, it feels earned and whilst retaining the shock value that is intended, does not wholly blindside the audience.
This is where the layers of the performances in the film truly begin to reveal themselves in all their playful glory. Here, both Stan and Edgar-Jones engage in an extremely sick game of cat and mouse as each begin to camouflage into an alternate version of themselves. Whilst the nice-guy façade fades, it is also simultaneously reinforced in moments of kindness – whether genuine or self-serving. Moreover, Edgar-Jones begins to transform into the backwards masculine ideal of femininity and submissiveness by embracing the absurdity of the situation she finds herself in, lapping up fashion magazines and gifts despite not being able to leave. Whilst the film encourages us to see this as all part of the game to escape, there are moments where even the audience may be swayed by her masquerade. Similarly, glimpses into the wider scope of the horror of the situation also reveal more false appearances and hint at the horror that hides behind the wealth barrier one cannot break through.
Outside this nightmare however, Noa’s seeming disappearance has her friend Mollie deeply concerned as she begins to investigate the true identity of Steve. This plot and the final act are however where the film falls somewhat short. Whilst the two-handed romance horror that unfolds between the two leads feels original, frightening and charming all at once, the subplot and the films ultimate denouement appear somewhat derivative and lack the punch of the earlier scenes. Thus, what begins as a taut, exciting thriller eventually unfolds into more familiar horror as it loses some of its satirical edge. Nevertheless, anchored by a pair of equally impressive performances, it remains a refreshing addition to the growing feminist horror canon.