Mark Reviews Movies: HER SMELL

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Review by Mark Dujsik | April 18, 2019

Writer/director Alex Ross Perry tells a fairly familiar story in Her Smell. It's about a musician who was once on top and, because of drug addiction and a sense of entitlement, finds herself sinking—and then plummeting—toward rock bottom. There is so much chaos here, with all of the behind-the-scenes drama and a central character who seems hell-bent on ensuring that her premonition of dying on stage comes true, yet Perry never allows that to become the story or the film's defining feature.

The filmmaker takes a more traditional approach. First of all, there's a rather conventional and clearly delineated five-act structure that imbues focus on this character study—of a character whose sole focus is whatever whim inspires her at any given moment. Second, Perry's dialogue, although seemingly contrary to the down-and-dirty shenanigans and constant crises of a punk band in flux, provides us with his usual, flowery flair.

Somehow, the combination of the story's structure and the dialogue prevents either component from feeling antithetical to actual content of this tale. Maybe we've been trained by hundreds of years of drama to accept that traditional structuring demands a heightened sense of language. Maybe the characters' occasionally elevated way of speaking prepares us for a story that will fit the old-fashioned mold of drama or, depending on whether or not the main character can get her act together, tragedy. One of the signs that Perry's storytelling risks are effective is that we're not certain how the character's story will end until it actually does.

Whatever reason may be behind the gelling of traditional dramatic conventions and the unconventional life of a rock star, there's a sense of gravitas to the story of Becky Something (Elisabeth Moss)—a stage name, of course—as the once-famous rocker sets out to destroy whatever remains of her career, her fame, and whatever relationships she still possesses—her whole future, to put it bluntly. The five acts of her story are easily defined: backstage after a show, in a recording studio, backstage before a show, at the musician's home, and backstage before a different show, as well as the show itself and a little more following it.

The first three acts are exclusively about Becky's downfall, with each one illuminating different parts of her life and tracking how the bad can always get worse. The first is a bit of an introduction, in which we meet Becky, her bandmates Marielle (Agyness Deyn) and Ali (Gayle Rankin), and her ex-husband Danny (Dan Stevens), with whom she has a daughter.

While the band is fed up with her behavior, including dismissing the chance to open for old-friend-turned-pop-star Zelda E. Zekiel (Amber Heard), Becky clings to an unorthodox guru, who feeds her ego (and likely takes a lot of her money in exchange). She ignores the band members' complaints, as well as those of Danny, who's trying to make sure Becky financially provides for their daughter, since she clearly has no interest in being there for the girl.

That act climaxes with an actual fall, but as the story progresses, we're reminded that the concept of rock bottom is adjustable. The second act focuses on the deterioration of the band during a disastrous recording session.

Ali quits—and not for the first or last time, which says something about the inherent draw of Becky, how much people have come to rely on her, the level of codependence in these relationships, or some combination of these things. With the band's manager (played by Eric Stoltz) at the end of his rope, Marielle tries to be the adult in the room. Becky simply clings to a new band, whose members are in awe of her.

The third act watches, perhaps, the end of Becky's reign as the star of music and those within her sphere of influence. With Becky late for a show that's probably her last chance, the old band, the new band, Danny, and Becky's mother (played by Virginia Madsen) are finally together to discuss the pain the musician has caused them and how, this time, it's really the last straw.

We might believe them, but the only question of importance is if Becky is of a similar mindset. What can be said is that fourth act (with Perry and cinematographer Sean Price Williams lingering on warm and stable domestic scenes, as compared to the florescent-lit, handheld confusion of the earlier acts), for sure, and the final one find a much calmer tone and approach.

Moss' performance is a tough balancing act, in that it must convince us that Becky has caused an almost unspeakable level of harm to those who care about her, while still giving us a reason to sympathize with her over the course of her self-destruction. Perry helps a bit in eliciting our sympathy, by showing glimpses of the band's rise to fame in home videos between acts, but the bulk of our capacity to see more to Becky—than just the disaster that her life has become—belongs to Moss. There's an undeniable sense of the pain, the fear, and the doubt that feed the character's addictions—to drugs, to drama, to being the center of attention, to complete and total destruction, if it must come to that.

Must it? We're never entirely certain until the film's final shot, and that alone is some kind of accomplishment. If the first three acts of Her Smell are unnerving in how well they portray Becky as an unstoppable force of misery for herself and others, the fifth act is a noteworthy showcase of character-based tension. It would be so easy for the old Becky to return. We believe she could but hope she doesn't, which is a testament to Perry's good, old-fashioned storytelling and Moss' dynamic performance.

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