It is hard to deny that the music in this film is great. Murdoch’s brand of sweet, soothing indie pop is intoxicating, and it is well showcased. The cast fit their musical parts remarkably well and, backed by members of Murdoch’s actual band, each number comes together nicely.

The core of the ensemble take to their three level podium graciously. Browning, Alexander and Murray each know how much to give and how much to hold back. They are a strong trio. Flawlessly attractive and charismatic, their chemistry is strong and their connections feel genuine. Browning’s Eve is nuanced, contrary and surprisingly likeable. And her voice is good, even rivalling Catherine Ireton’s on the original album. Honestly, watching everyone skip, whistle and click through Murdoch’s oeuvre is a pleasure. But it isn’t quite enough.

The fact that God Help the Girl is a film feels kind of incidental, as though it’s just another medium to explore this idea in. The plot is a little confused and unfocused at times, and often seems like a vehicle for cuteness and whimsy: ‘Let’s ride a tandem bike!’ or ‘Let’s watch a puppy running!’ or ‘Let’s put some cuties in knee-highs and neck-ties!’ (not complaining about that last one). And all these things are good, or could be. Murdoch has a pleasant aesthetic to his work, and his style is in keeping with his music. However, without a strong plot or a clear goal, our attention wavers between each song and adventure. These intermissions hold back what could be a great film. When a character bursts into song in a film, it should feel as if they have no other way to express themselves. But without adequate emotional build-up beforehand, Murdoch’s songs lack the urgency needed to drive the plot forward.

To be fair, this is Stuart Murdoch’s directorial debut. And he does show promise. In terms of tone and aesthetic, this film is comparable to Richard Ayoade’s debut, Submarine (2010), and its shortcomings are similar. But unlike Submarine, Murdoch’s film doesn’t quite feel complete. Hopefully this isn’t the last we’ve heard from Murdoch on this project because, as it is (and as nice as it looks and sounds), God Help the Girl needs a little help.

3/5 stars

If the Brothers Grimm were ecofeminists, this is the film they would make. Clara and The Secret of the Bears feels like an old story, but its message is decidedly contemporary. With a strong focus on oral traditions and storytelling, this film is about culture and connectedness. Surrounded by people still fearful of the legendary ‘Bären-Frau’, a witch who cursed the village, the 13-year-old Clara (Ricarda Zimmerer) has the insight to investigate and, in turn, she is rewarded. Inquisitiveness, literacy, and cross-generational discourses are all praised in a way that engages a younger audience. Clara is seen as magic, and her powers of empathy and vision transform her from a helpless young girl into a person in touch with her environment and connected to the forces of nature. A warning repeats itself throughout the film and Clara is the only one who listens: “the wrath of nature reigns down on those who harm the bears”.

Women drive this film, with almost all of the major characters being female, and while they are sometimes met with ridicule by their antagonists, their strength brings them triumph. Integrity, empathy and listening bring these women together in solidarity across several generations and several centuries, and together they save themselves and the bears, restoring the balance of their village. At every turn, this film attempts to challenge unhealthy gender roles. Is this legendary woman a witch? Or is she just a social outcast, a woman speaking her mind, voicing an unpopular opinion? Does she deserve our outrage or a moment of our time for us to question ourselves? There are atypical male characters as well. Clara gains the friendship of a boy in her class, but it is only that – a friendship – and Clara never compromises herself for it. And a bear cub raised by its father is something we, like the characters in the film, might not expect to see.

The inclusion of the bears, acting in a non-threatening way, helps a young audience in understanding their fears instead of demonising them. The bears we see are still wild animals, and they are shown to be dangerous. But Clara and The Secret of the Bears teaches us that protecting the bears from a respectful distance is better than hunting them, an important lesson in coexistence. The non-human characters play an important role in this film. The landscape of the Swiss Alps might be easy to miss as a character, but as soon as it starts to be mistreated, it is sure to make its powerful presence known.

Clara and The Secret of the Bears is a touching and well-constructed film that teaches us the importance of learning to walk in other people’s shoes while being mindful of our footprints.

3½/5 stars

When Tom visits the family farm of his boyfriend Guillaume, recently killed in an unexplained accident, he finds a grieving mother, unaware of her son’s sexuality, and a sadistic brother determined to keep it from her. The result is a horrific anti-lovestory of grief and violence.

Dolan introduces Guillame’s brother, Francis, as a figure in the dark, a warning not to upset the balance of their lives, a suffocating hand. This terrifyingly featureless figure is a nod to the horror genre, and foreshadows the more unsettling reality that follows. The relationship that forms between Tom and Francis is one of co-dependency and desperation, two figures trapped and voiceless in an isolated environment. Dolan builds these characters on foundations of spoken lies and hidden truths, and a fetishistic yearning for feeling and belonging.

Projections of self-loathing, expressions of repressed feelings, and attempts to love in the wake of loss are scattered through the film, and the psychological power play that results leaves us to wonder who’s talking to whom and what is going unspoken. Drug-fuelled tangos, saliva exchanged between split lips, a man grabbed by the throat whispers “harder” and there seems like there is no way out. This film is an exploration of grief, grief for those we’ve lost and for our hidden selves. It’s an exploration of our attempts to fill the void left behind, to feel at any cost, and it is done beautifully.

Death is the catalyst that brings these people together into a makeshift family of repression and regret. A mother no longer in control, a son whose love is vicious, and now Tom, forced to question the price he will pay for human connection. Tom is motivated by his longing to feel something real in the wake of his loss. Each morning, in an unfamiliar bed, Tom wakes up under a car poster captioned ‘Feel Real’. What this actually means is explored throughout the film, leaving us to question where the line between reality and role-playing actually lies.

This film has a lot of people to thank for its intricacy and potency. A subtle and intimate ensemble cast, André Turpin’s handsomely restrained cinematography, and Michel Marc Bouchard, the writer behind the original play. But it is Xavier Dolan that brings it together so succinctly. Dolan is writer, director, producer, editor, costume designer and actor here and the result is something rare and impressive. A golden-haired prince of the cornfields, Xavier Dolan is my new idol.

4½/5 stars