Ryan McNeil
There’s a tragic contradiction when artists turn out to be such damaged people. Whether it’s a spiralling jazz composition, or a stunning oil on canvas, these are the people who can most affect the world with their talent to create something beautiful. However, what they can create is no indicator of how they’re wired, or who they are. So it goes that people who can move their audiences to tears can likewise evoke tears of pain from their own families.
PHOENIX is the story of Astrid, Jill, and Bo (Maria Bonnevie, Ylva Thedin Bjørkaas, and Casper Falck-Løvås) are a Swedish family just trying to make ends meet. When we first meet Jill in the days leading-up to her 14th birthday, we can clearly see that she is the one looking after the family. He visual artist mother is incapacitated by addiction and depression, and their life is being held-together by threads. Soon, Astrid is offered a job at a gallery, and things for the family take an optimistic turn. The turn is short-lived, however, and soon Astrid will be forced to face the consequences of living in the shadow of an addict, whether she’s prepared for it or not.
The danger that Camilla Strøm Henriksen seems most interested in harbinging is the absence of truly feeling. We can put ourselves into dangerous positions when we have to shut emotion off in order to merely function. Putting up such walls can help us cope, but runs the risk of leaving us unable to deal with the problems at hand…or sometimes even vocalize that there is a problem. This is the danger of living with abuse: the acceptance of the situation as “the new normal”, and as such being left with an inability to articulate so-called “normal feelings”.
There is symbolism all over PHOENIX – from a single unbroken teacup to a crisp white blouse. All of them are flickers of hope in times of deep darkness; tokens offered up to prove that beautiful things can survive in ugly environments. Unfortunately, each of them is eventually tarnished with disappointment, despair, and dishonesty. Instead of clinging to these pretty things in ugly times, we are reminded that lies – even white lies – eventually tarnish everything in sight.
PHOENIX is startling and tragic. It reveals the way disfunction and addiction lingers not just in the din of the working poor, but also in the high key polish of the wealthy and creative. It’s a film about coping – both successfully and unsuccessfully. It’s deeply affecting and pleads with us for honesty…especially when dishonesty seems like such an easier way to go.