Wild Diamond: the Brink of Innocence
There are movies that are infamously so bad they’re great. That’s certainly true of Paul Verhoeven’s 1995 film Showgirls. Elizabeth Berkley plays Nomi Malone, an attractive girl running away from her smalltown life and make it big in Las Vegas. Verhoeven paints a picture of the American dream as a rags-to-riches tale with the ultimate goal of fame. However, underneath all the sparkle, Nomi soon discovers a reality full of drugs, sexual predators and back-stabbing contenders for the same crown. It’s about how much bullshit you can take and what you’re willing to sacrifice for a shot at the golden apple. In the end she reaches a decision that, from the viewer’s point of view, looks like a happy ending. The film was a death toll for Berkley’s career but the film’s cult status eventually reanimated it.
Now, 29 years after Verhoeven’s glorious trainwreck, there’s a new French film that doesn’t consciously borrow a page from his playbook but nevertheless, its heroine could use a lesson from Nomi because the latter took an uninhibited dive at the deep end of that pool of humiliation and barely survived it. Liane is a 19 year old girl from Frejus, the French city portrayed as the exact opposite of Sin City: rather a place where fun goes to die. The director Agathe Riedinger gives us an elaborate backstory of Liane’s aspirations and what’s driving her desire to become a fictional, yet enthralling character that’s a mirror of everyone’s fantasies. Unlike Berkley, she’s not very attractive. Her enlarged breasts are merely a costume hiding a toxic mix of anxiety and despair, the make-up looks clumsy and cheap.
Liane lives on the verge of dignity with her little sister and mother whose life is falling apart under the pressure of existential difficulties and lethargy that prevents her from doing anything to improve their circumstances. It slowly turns Liane into the only adult in the household. When she finally realises just how deep the shit pit is in which they’re stuck, it pushes her further in the pursuit of fame as an escape mechanism. Riedinger presents us with a brilliant study of Gen Z’s obsession with social media as a platform for self-actualisation. Their digital reality is a parallel world where they carefully curate an image that turns a human being into a product embodying everything that the spirit of the times deems aspirational. It requires just a few tricks, like a ring light, high heels and a camera giving our girl the aura of a delectable Las Vegas stripper.
The director illustrates the oppresive nature of the attention economy in scenes where you can see swaths of comments Liane receives from her followers and others, ranging from admiration to abuse and sexism. It works as a dopamine kick because nowadays, every reaction is treated as a success until it isn’t. In moments where she spiritually strips to the bare bones of her own intimate truth, we see her gluing stolen sequins to her shoes to appear provocative and sexy. A drop in the ocean of pseudo-Kardashians desperate for a slice of the cake of their success. It’s attained through an algorithm resembling an assembly line of younger and unspoilt prey, pussies up for grabs by the likes of Jeffrey Epstein. Soon, Liane strikes gold when the casting agent of a reality show invites her for an audition. It’s a scene full of objectification and moral vivisection. There’s a hint of what she’s about to get into but the red flags somehow escape her.
Her girlfriends are a happy bunch who are all about dating, parties and looking great while doing so. In accordance with the social media theme, everything is about reels and viral photos on Tiktok or Instagram. Stats are treated as some kind of a holy grail to boost their social standing among the pack of like-minded peers. The setting is very far from the glamorous utopias of modern day Paris which makes it relatable. As if to say, there’s much more to this country than Dior, croissants and the Eiffel Tower. This was a wise decision because even the downtrodden corners of Parisian suburbs still subscribe to the myth this city is emanating. Wherever you are, it’s only a subway ride away from those grand boulevards. Here, on the other hand, there’s almost no such redeeming qualities. A much needed reality check for the audiences and the French equivalent of white trash.
Since my birth certificate goes back to the pre-internet age, it means that compared to people like Liane, I’m probably a dinosaur. Sometimes I do feel that way about social media because I stubbornly refuse to join that swarm of rabid flytraps in the Tiktok pool. Don’t even get me started on Threads, from which I ocassionally get notifications about new followers though my activity there is next to zero. The truth of modern business, which is one of the main points of Wild Diamond too, is that those platforms are a necessity for anyone with a business plan. You could be a CEO, fashion designer or an influencer. If you’re not there, it’s a brand suicide. Every time I pitch for projects,there’s the dreaded “target audience” bracket. Our girl’s target seem to be narcissists with duckface lips in sky-high fuck me heels and sexually deprived men venting their frustration on naive young women who mistake a flirt for a compliment.
As the daze and excitement from the audition dissipates, there’s no news about whether or not she’ll be climbing that stairway to the celebrity Olympus. Liane grows increasingly desperate, thinking she might indeed be another one of almost-success stories with which the digital dream graveyard is littered. She resorts to old habits that almost catch up with her. After a soul-crushing attempt to contact the agent, hungry and tired, she sneaks into a private party to eat something. Unsurprisingly, she’s mistaken for a prostitute by a group of men and tries to cash in on their attention. They agree to open their wallets and consequently take her to a room in the house. It’s a throwback to a shocking scene in Showgirls that stayed with everyone who’ve seen it. While Verhoeven’s Molly gets bulldozed by a gang of brutal rapists, this one managed to get out one step away from falling down into the same abyss. It’s a true breaking point if there ever was one.
You could almost feel the fear in your own bones, when she’s cornered by predators in the room. Their eyes ablaze with lust, they’re waiting to finally get what they paid for. However, one of them turns out to be more compassionate than expected. Yet, it’s profoundly disappointing because now that she felt quite directly what kind of compromises it might entail, she’s still holding on to the empty promises of fame. 10 years ago, I could have sympathised with her ambitions. But there’s a palpable difference between risking a good reputation and literally risking your life. Getting in trouble is an understatement in that system of exploitation, illusions and staged reality marketed to people anxious to see someone else’s misery under scrutiny instead of their own. At the audition, the casting agent lays out the rules. Just check your principles at the door before getting in.
When she attempts to tattoo herself, it’s a tool to gain even more followers. Just watching her do it makes you a little bit sick. How much is enough? Because this is almost a worse addiction than the usual stuff you push up your nose or your veins. You can never overdose on likes when they start turning into cash with marketing deals coming your way. Malou Khebisi does an excellent job in the leading role: simultaneously afraid and fragile yet strong and determined. She might be driving straight into a wall with broken brakes, but don’t you try to patronise her with warnings of imminent doom. In spite of affection she receives from Dino whose aspirations aren’t as lofty as hers, there’s no place for him in that future where Liane is the reigning queen of the reality show Miracle Island. When she finally hears the news she longed for, everything is all right again.
Riedinger’s heroine is off to new shores full of glamour and money in which she expects to be basking. The road looks clear and all the stars aligned. Her obsessions materialised into a tangible prospect. Just like Sinatra, who sings in one of his most famous hits: If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere. As far as I’m concerned, one thing is for sure. Liane might end up in a room like that again, but luck seldom strikes twice. There’s no safe space for women in showbusiness. If you decide to hide, you won’t be getting on their bandwagon. This is an even bigger issue in places where your future isn’t an opportunity for anything beyond the working class daily grind. The beehive is too far from you to enjoy the perks. In turn, there are hundreds of pretty girls hoping for a call from a casting agent. That makes Wild Diamond a great cautionary tale for all who ignore the junction where the road to heaven takes you to hell instead.
