Ladyworld

With no electricity or running water, and a dwindling food supply, no one wants to take charge at first: “I honestly don’t trust any of you,” one of the girls declares; so, they put it up to a vote. Olivia ends up assuming the leadership role, “just for a few hours.”  She has everyone turn on their phones periodically, and briefly, so they don’t run out of batteries. Paranoia starts to seep in. “We’re not safe,” Eden says. “I saw someone… They were coming at me. Everything was still shaking.” They later celebrate Eden’s birthday (in the glummest celebration ever), followed by cult-like chanting at night, surrounded by candles. 

Then Eden disappears. The redhead, Piper, ain’t afraid of no man. “We’re not little girls,” she says, taking off her shirt to emphasize the statement. “We’re women.” Gradually, drama flares, characters confront each other about their social status. “My mother says girls never really like each other,” one of the girls points out. They all begin to lose grasp of their sanity. They pee in washing machines, hock loogies into sinks, make out with each other, and allow their phones to die. The sound of a helicopter offers a glimpse of solace, but alas, their screams for help are futile. 

They eventually split into factions, Piper leading the demented, mascara-covered half, while Olivia attempts to maintain a semblance of leadership and sanity. “We need the meetings and the rules. Otherwise, we’re not going to survive!” she pleads to the increasingly distant bunch. Is the invisible man – who apparently hides under the tarp – brainwashing them? Is there a man? Kramer purposefully keeps things ambiguous. She fully commits to the insanity in the film’s final act, when the girls go ballistic in each other’s tight company until salvation may or may not arrive at the end. 

“Unpredictable, impassioned…and highly artistic, Ladyworld…will have you deliberating its themes for days after.”

The narrative unfolds with an impassive tone that gradually accumulates intensity. One of the girls slips and falls early on, breaking her ankle and weeping in despair, as the rest gaze apathetically. Their meetings are monotone, as is Eden’s sullen birthday party. Kramer adopts a highly theatrical approach, with long shots giving the ensemble cast of actresses the opportunity to flex their chops. She and her co-writer, Benjamin Shearn, have a flair for offbeat, minimalist dialogue. “Do you bring your doll to school?” Olivia asks. “It’s an antique,” Dolly replies defensively.