‘September Says’ LFF 2024 Review: Intimacy and Imitation
In a recent Cannes Film Festival interview, actress and director Ariane Labed described her first feature film, September Says (an adaptation of Daisy Johnson’s 2020 novel Sisters) as an attempt to “approach what’s normal and what’s not… what becomes almost unnatural”. There is no trailer to unveil this mystique, only a 50-second clip of two teenage girls hunched over a bathtub, their dark profiles almost indistinguishable from one another. This was my first screening of the London Film Festival, and with absolutely no knowledge of the film’s narrative, I was abruptly plunged into the relentless adolescent world of September Says.
The 2024 drama orbits two siblings, September and July, and the complexities of their sisterhood within their single-mother household; complicated doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of their domestic dynamic. The first shot hints comically at what is to come: a young July and September, hand clasped and modeling outfits identical to the iconic twins from The Shining, their mother Sheela spraying them with fake blood for her photography. This invokes the doubling that threads its way through the narrative, their attachment heightening how they seem to converge. In the first few minutes, it was difficult to mark each sister as separate. As the film progresses, this begins to fracture and is entirely deconstructed with the final reveal, a retrospective climax that electrifyingly rears its ugly head. However, This doubling is never truly symmetrical; July lives in the shadow of her older sister, and when she begins to develop individual desires and emotions, her environment comes crashing down. It is also particularly notable that the viewer’s very first perception of Sheela is through her camera lens, watching her two daughters - this feels symbolic of what appears to be a form of parental paralysis as she seems to assume the role of observer, rather than guardian, in the home. One facet that adds to the erratic atmosphere of September Says is the passivity of the adults that feature: teachers who never grant the sisters any protection from bullying, and who often punish September for her volatile reactions, which at times, seem justified.
It is incredibly difficult to reduce the bond between September and July down to a single attribute - destructive, playful, protective, endearing, codependent. In many ways, Labed creates a raw, deeply personal depiction of two sisters coping in a realm that rejects and isolates them in increasingly violent ways. Their behaviour appears childlike, such as dancing, making animal noises, and imitating what they see on television: perhaps this is a stage they have stagnated in, a box that they have long outgrown. September accidentally tears her dress which she remarks is years too small for her, yet is made to wear for her mother’s photoshoots. When it is evident that the girls have little to no control over their environment, it becomes clear why their actions may appear ‘abnormal’. The surreal, uncanny elements of the narrative cement puberty and adolescence as a period of unfamiliar horror, in which even your own body cannot be trusted to remain the same. The older of the two, September, clearly asserts authority over July, but I think it is somewhat ambiguous as to whether this is protective, or sinister and malignant. July’s dependency on her sister is neatly displayed in their method of school transport - September repeatedly avoids fixing her bicycle, which results in July balancing precariously on the back of September’s bicycle, feet brushing the tarmac. Again, in a practice that feels distinctly younger than their years.
Despite the film’s focus on youth, September Says has starkly adult moments. While not being overly visual, Sheela’s sex scene is extensive and detailed, focussing on female pleasure. Labed refuses to shy away from the realities of womanhood, briefly showing a sanitary pad - she explores the experiences of femininity that many can relate to, but are rarely shown on the big screen.
Surprisingly, comedic elements lighten the film, such as repeated shots of Sheela inhaling a sizeable vape in unexpected circumstances. These rare scenes of mirth are bleakly juxtaposed with the darkness that swallows the crescendo of the narrative, the moment of reckoning. The sound design underlines the final few sequences with breathtaking precision: sound designer Johnnie Burn (who received an Oscar for The Zone of Interest) creates a stifling, paralytic soundscape that renders the ending all the more disorienting. Fraught with tension, the very last scene is tremendously immersive, both visually and aurally, leaving the audience with a perfectly placed whistle from September.
Labed interrogates narration and identity with a film that is equally disturbing and endearing, solidly establishing this film as my favourite from the London Film Festival.
Edited by Humaira Valera, Co-Film & TV Editor
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