In Fabric (2018)

Executive produced by Ben Wheatley, In Fabric is a comedic horror film from Peter Strickland, who made critical splashes with prior small-scale efforts like the crafty, giallo-homage of Berberian Sound Studio and the fetishistic tale found in The Duke of Burgundy. Strickland’s penchant for exploring unique scenarios continues with this more expansive story about a sexy “artery red” dress bought by Sheila, a lonely, recently divorced middle-aged London bank clerk, at Dentley & Soper, a bizarre department store that may be selling haunted wares during the rush of its January sales.

It’s not explicitly stated in the film, but the setting is sometime in the early 1990s (Strickland states 1993, specifically), long before cell phones and the internet would become ubiquitous, and where lonely people would meet each other through classified ads (aka, the “Lonely Hearts” section). Department stores were very much a place to go to see the latest goods and would become a sort of meeting place, much like the malls in America, where people would congregate and spend much of their free time browsing around for something to give their own lives some pizzazz. Clothing catalogs sold not only the wares but the way that the clothing was destined to make the wearer’s lives better due to their purchase. One similarly palatial clothing store Strickland remembers had pneumatic tubes that shot up the money and customers would wait for it to return back with their change, which he uses for the store in this film.

Although one can view In Fabric as a straightforward narrative with weird stylistic choices, Strickland appears to be delving at something deeper in resonance, exploring the power that clothing has in how people are treated, as well as the corrosive aspects of consumerism. They say that “clothes make the man”, but this story explores the idea that the maker of the clothing also contributes a role, as well as the seller, and anyone who may have worn that clothing in the past. Clothes make people happy, some make them sad (such as those worn by a lost loved one), and some are meant to provoke others into turning heads.  Clothes can turn on or turn off, like someone else’s undergarments, which can either be seen as unsanitary or a particularly appealing fixation. Clothes can make someone feel good about their body or not, or good about themselves or not, depending on the confidence they give, and the compliments the wearer may receive.

This could have come across as a cheapie b-movie horror excursion were it not for Strickland’s commitment to characterizations, and strong performances from a talented cast of character actors. Marianne Jean-Baptiste, who came to Strickland on the recommendation of Berberian‘s Toby Jones, as Sheila gets the most screen time and delivers an entirely sympathetic character that draws us into her story of trying to find love and acceptance in a world of men who seem to only have love and acceptance for themselves. Romanian-born actress Fatma Mohamed, who is a regular in Strickland’s films (he wrote the part with her in mind), gives the most high-profile performance as the comical but quite bizarre manager of the department store, Miss Luckmoore.  After meeting up with Gwendoline Christie, aka Brienne of Tarth on “Game of Thrones”, after she expressed her love of his Duke of Burgundy, Strickland offered her the small supporting role as Gwen, the provocateur brunette seeing Sheila’s son Vince, the struggling artist. Veteran English musician Barry Adamson is quite impressive in a small role as the more sympathetic of Sheila’s suitors.

Although Strickland develops his characters with a sympathetic eye, the film becomes a bit of a metaphor for the nature of terminal diseases, as those who come into contact with the dress appear to manifest cancerous growths that they mostly shrug off. In this way, the affliction of the dress is very much like getting cancer, which doesn’t care whether you’re a good person or a bad person, or if you deserve your lot in life. There is no judgment involved in its actions; its evil will strike its victims independent of whether those victims themselves are good or evil.

The sexuality within the film occurs between several sets of people. Initially, you feel that Sheila, who hasn’t been in a relationship in some time, is not going to be able to find it, jealous of her son’s sexual relationship to the point where she can’t help but spy on his activities when presented. We contrast this with another couple that we meet later, much younger, but together for about 15 years. They have unrelated conversations during their sex as if they are stuck in a mode of autopilot, having been together so long that even intimate actions for most people are now perfunctory and impersonal. Meanwhile, the tenders of the department store seem to have something more sinister and perhaps even supernatural going on during closing hours, performing strange sexual blood rituals that appear to be almost vampiric by nature. Sex and death to them are so closely aligned, they appear to connotate one and the same, symbolized by the dress that allures with notions of sexuality, but its nature is one that is more deadly.

Motifs also explore manipulation, especially by the department store coven. We see recurring visions of hands with fingers spread apart, perhaps symbolizing manipulation as if they are the hands of puppeteers, utilizing their skills in some form of dark magic to cause things to move on their own, including the infamous dress. Mannequins as well, which are designed to display fashions like the dress, but which are manipulated by those who run the commercial establishments to entice those looking for something more in their lives they feel they are missing. Mannequins are eerie and unnerving as well. The fabric itself is like a net, woven so finely that there is no means of easy escape once someone is trapped underneath. As we come to realize that the dress might actually be indestructible to a certain degree, we find it more unnerving when those who sleep or be unaware come into contact, as they might be victims at any moment.

In reality, clothing is not indestructible, but there is a nature of it that suggests that many pieces of clothing live on beyond its wearer. If you purchase any piece of wardrobe in a thrift store, there is a strong likelihood that that piece has had another life and history with another person, at some point getting their skin, perspiration, perhaps even blood into it before we try it on for ourselves and put our own into it. Indeed, body fluids are a core motif in the film, which is our connection with clothing that tends to soak up our essence, whether we are conscious of it or not. Of course, most of that has been long washed out prior to our use, but the red dress of the film is shown to be impervious to cleaning in a way, retaining all of its innate qualities and histories with its wearers which cannot be irradicated by simple means.

Textures also play an important role, the feel of the fabric, of skin touching skin – it’s the sensuality of it and that which promotes a certain fetishism. Voices are important as well, and the soothing nature of listening to an overly detailed ASMR-worthy explanation of the problems a washing machine might have will send the listener into another place, checked out into the realm of their own thoughts where they might daydream if they don’t fall asleep altogether. Catalogs are flipped open, and there is a comfort in the sound of its pages turning, or an alarm in seeing them get crumpled or shredded in anger.  The elegance of Miss Luckmore’s delivery heightens the allure, even if it makes little practical sense at the moment. The music from Stereolab co-founder Tim Gane and his Cavern of Anti-Matter is also composed to lull the viewer into a trance-like state, drifting into the realm of the fantasy world of fashion as a form of magic.

Also, the motif in manipulation is reflected the arbitrary rules that are imposed out of either control, jealousy, or boredom, from the workplace, department stores, restaurants, family members, and even board games – everyone seems to be looking to find a way to exert control over someone else. In addition to the world of fashion, Strickland, a Brit who currently lives in Budapest, Hungary, tends to be playing up comedy about the doldrums of everyday London life that cause such reactions to clothing. From a stale marriage to micro-aggressive HR reps at work who have to engage in controlling every aspect of behavior for the mildest of offenses by their employees (echoes of the BBC version of “The Office” are brought to mind in these scenes), it’s a life of fleeting pleasures and mounting irritation. This demeaning work is what we do in order to afford to live a life of leisure, but even that life begins to not seem so much different than work once all the flavor is drained out of it over time. Clothing provides one of the means to escape and feel different about our current situation, to feel like we could add some spice or spark to get us out of our current ruts.

It is a bizarre and at times uneven piece, and perhaps a bit long and meandering for its type, but there is enough ingenuity in the story to keep things interesting. Good characterizations and a quality cast of performers also help bring the ideas to life. Strickland threads the proverbial line between giving us just enough weight to feel properly unnerved, yet just enough humor to accept the ridiculous events that transpire. While playing mostly as a dark comedy version of a Dario Argento film in a sense, In Fabric does leave a haunting impression when it comes to clothing, so much so that you will likely recall it on your next visit to a clothing store, or thrift store, observing the power that clothing actually has in the lives of all of us.

Qwipster’s rating: B

MPAA Rated: R for strong sexual content including a scene of aberrant behavior, and some bloody images
Running Time: 118 min.

Cast: Marianne Jean-Baptiste, Fatma Mohamed, Leo Bill, Hayley Squires, Gwendoline Christie, Julian Barratt, Steve Oram, Jaygann Ayeh, Barry Adamson, Richard Bremmer, Terry Bird
Director: Peter Strickland
Screenplay: Peter Strickland