I avidly pursue these small straight to video films because sometimes you hit gold. Last year, I was rewarded twice with 'Panic' and the delicious '10 Things...' That film resembles this in some ways. But then this resembles so many other projects, most closely Altman's 'Ready to Wear' but done in a 'Best in Show' technique where the actors devise the dialog. I'm very skeptical of that technique because actors just don't have the skills or interests to shape all the dimensions of a project. But they do well enough here to not embarrass and in one case: Sorvino and Gallagher as gentle lovers they do very, very well.
But overall -- except for one major exception -- nothing in the film rises beyond pleasant spacefiller. There are lots of elements that might have been exploited but were not: the design of the eponymous perfume bottle, the state of the adrift daughter, the intelligence of the street designer (indeed, mirroring of one designer's acceptance and ones rejection of damaged children), the entrée to the big time through a sexual initiation and rejection, the drive to style and influence.
The sad thing is the lack of style in the whole project: It lacked any, and this seemed strange: it was as if the whole thing were told through an urchin's eyes.
There is one thing, one sequence, that makes this project worthwhile. As with most modern scripts, there is a self-referential bit. Here, the filmmaker is represented by a photographer who is presented with a promising subject. But she comes attached with 'dialog' that they both feel uncomfortable with. So they forcefully eject those that force these constraints and just ad lib the session. Naturally, that's what Rymer is doing with the film, so this scene is underscored. (The photographer is later rewarded for his intuition.) The importance of these scene is further emphasized by framing the whole film by two other sessions of this photographer -- the first is of him photographing nude women (obviously a nod to the expected exposure of the raw personalities of fashion to come). This is a glam heroin shot that emphasizes the wan 'pain' of the girls. Estella shows up and refuses to participate.
Then at the end, we have the same photographer, on the street, shooting a healthy-looking Estella while the drugaddled daughter walks by in the background. So that scene in the middle where the photographer/filmmaker takes things into his own hands is the soul of the movie. And it is a worthy sequence.
First of all, it features Mariel Hemingway, someone whose mere presence is impressive. The implicit pun on hemming is not beneath the level of allusion here. More powerful is the association with her famous grandfather (who killed himself) and her sister (who also killed herself). That sister made a big splash by endorsing perfume. Mariel is an enormously compelling screen presence, here at 40, and hypnotizingly lovely.
The dialog in this section is wonderful -- that stuff they say when the actual shoot is underway. In the story, that relationship between seer and seen, between designer and human art forms the armature for the whole evening: It is only a couple minutes -- he with his Mighty Mouse, she with her Moody Blues.
