Narrative continuity and logic start to dissipate fast. Our heroes’ story morphs into a Malick-meets-Dali saga of sorts, featuring Eirah (Yasamin Keshtkar), who keeps a hidden mare and falls for local thug Hadeon (Edmond Cofie); and then – a year later (!) – her sister (Maxine Muster) and an older, half-naked Lawrence (Josh Clark). I hope I got this much right. The Wanting Mare makes Leos Carax’s Holy Motors seem like a model of narrative consistency.
“…a phantasmagoric trip through someone’s dreams that tiptoe on the precipice of a nightmare.”
Who are those enigmatic inhabitants of this strange city? I’d ask what the characters’ motivations are, but they don’t seem all that motivated. The film is all horses and sky and land and ocean and rapidly decaying corpses and characters blankly seeking absolution. It’s certainly surreal – a phantasmagoric trip through someone’s dreams that tiptoe on the precipice of a nightmare. It’s beautifully shot, Bateman, who certainly loves his lens flare, puts together a muted brown palette with shades of swamp-green and azure. Everything is basked in mist. Everything is minimalist. It’ll either scramble your brain or tingle your creative senses, or both.
As a testament to the limitlessness of low-budget filmmaking, Bateman’s film functions perfectly; as a self-standing piece, less so. The Wanting Mare is sort of like listening to a highly eloquent recounting of a gorgeous dream – and, as we all know, no matter how eloquent, folks talking about their dreams can get pretty dull. I barely got by on the strength of its awe-inspiring visuals alone. Some less desensitized viewers may find it more challenging.
"…there’s only so long one can stare at an abstract painting."
