Review: LADY

 by Rob DiCristino

Or: The Indiscreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie

The most prominent critics’ quote included in Lady’s press materials touts it as “Saltburn on shrooms.” There’s a hint of truth there, I suppose, in that both films are set in stately English country houses and poke a fair bit of fun at the insularity of the spoiled aristocrats who reside in them. But while Emerald Fennell’s gaudy Talented Mr. Ripley knockoff collapses under the weight of its own smug self-satisfaction — poverty, says Fennell, is a dangerous and transgressive act — Samuel Abrahams’ charming new mockumentary approaches its subjects with decidedly more warmth and empathy. Lady follows the exploits of the solipsistic Isabella of Ravenhyde Hall (Fleabag’s Sian Clifford) — who would argue that she is merely “self-centered,” and that the distinction is consequential enough to mention — and the young, BAFTA-nominated documentarian (Laurie Kynaston as Sam) recruited to chronicle her life for Netflix. But when that gig is revealed to be a lie, Sam has two choices: Head home empty-handed or follow Isabella down a bizarre rabbit hole of self-discovery.

Co-written by Abrahams and partner Miranda Campbell Bowling, Lady begins with an initiation into Isabella’s lonely, spiritually malnourished existence: Compensating for her isolation with a conspicuous display of acquired riches — Isabella claims to be a Kardashian of the aristocracy but behaves more like the Michael Scott of the decaying landed elite — the delusional dilettante regales Sam and his documentary crew with an invented itinerary of charitable acts, social obligations, and familial routines. Sam sniffs her out almost immediately, of course, noting the clear absence of any friends or family except long-suffering housekeeper, Becky (Juliet Cowan), as well as a general social awkwardness that betrays the fact that she hasn’t actually left Ravenhyde’s grounds in over five years. Still, Isabella’s commitment to the bit proves curious enough for Sam to indulge her as she prepares for “Stately Stars,” a self-funded talent competition for local youths that she — much to Sam’s surprise — intends to win herself. Yes, her own talent show. Against children.

Abrahams claims that the original inspiration for Lady came from his chance viewing of a fledgling YouTuber’s first half-baked attempts at video posts: “Every decision — the editing, song choice, subject matter — was gloriously off,” he says, but “beneath the ridiculous was something heartbreaking: a need to be seen, to connect, to matter.” It’s this undercurrent of sweetness and compassion that keeps Lady from ever getting too mean-spirited to be fun, especially as Sian Clifford ramps up Isabella’s unraveling with an innocence that becomes undeniably disarming. In a surreal turn that shapes the film’s later movements, Isabella’s fear of ignominy is literalized as she gradually turns invisible from the fingertips inward — think Marty McFly’s family photo in Back to the Future — a bold narrative move that would read as clunky and obvious if it weren’t so very right for a preposterous figure like Isabella. Known best as the uptight sister on Fleabag, Clifford is delightfully unhinged here, gleefully embodying a pampered toff who fancies herself a performance artist.

Force majeure though Clifford may be, the more difficult role in Lady belongs to Laurie Kynaston as Sam, who begins the film as an unassuming audience surrogate but finds himself slowly corrupted by Isabella’s anxiety and lust for catharsis. The struggling filmmaker does everything he can to keep an ironic distance from his self-sabotaging protagonist, but even after a rough-cut trailer earns him an actual commission with Netflix to complete his documentary — the streaming giant presumably believes in Isabella’s “so-bad-she’s-good” potential — Sam grows too attached to the vulnerable human being under the bombastic facade to sell her out. Blending Grey Gardens, American Movie, and What We Do in the Shadows, Abrahams’ handheld camera captures their May-December disintegration without judgement or commentary: In a brilliant move that bears out a sly thematic poignancy, Sam’s camera operator eventually rebels against him, insisting on capturing the “objective” filmmaker’s unexpected assimilation with his accidental muse.

Lady will ultimately fly too far under the radar to make any real noise this awards season, but its chaotic humor and infectious charisma testify to the craft and ingenuity of all involved. Armed with a talent like Sian Clifford, Abrahams and his team could have taken a much easier, more Tik-Tok-friendly route by keeping us laughing at Isabella rather than, eventually, with her. As both versions of The Office prove over and over again, it’s easy to churn cheap humor out of gutless schadenfreude, to mock the sincerity of the talentless and uninspired simply because they yield nothing we judge to be of any value. But as the far, far superior Parks & Recreation demonstrates, it’s always the trickier — and infinitely more resonant — path that encourages us to recognize our own frailties in those we’d presume to belittle. In the end, we’re every bit as naive, stubborn, and self-destructive as Isabella, and watching Sam and his crew come to terms with their own foibles and limitations makes his would-be punching bag’s vindication — as well as our own — all the more triumphant.

Lady is in limited U.S. release on Friday, October 2nd.