Paradise Hills movie review & film summary (2019)
Even at Sundance, where the film premiered earlier this year, the stills featuring the femme “A Clockwork Orange” meets “A Picnic at Hanging Rock” inspired costumes by Alberto Valcárcel and the futuristic “Alice in Wonderland”-like production design by Laia Colet were among the most striking qualities of “Paradise Hills.” Unfortunately, they are the movie’s best traits. The impressive cast is no match for the movie’s awkward blocking and stilted dialogue. Waddington’s collaboration with cinematographer Josu Inchaustegui leaves the camera at odd placements, sometimes too far from its subjects or unevenly cuts off one of the actresses. During a yoga class scene, Uma and Yu are working together as partners, and although Yu remains in the frame almost the entire shot, Uma unceremoniously falls out-of-sight. This unpolished look feels like a rushed movie destined for Saturday afternoons on the SyFy channel, not something we’ll want to watch over and over again.
The strange world girls and young women find themselves is ripe for exploring through sci-fi. The school scenes mix elements of paranoia (and a few lighting cues) from “Suspiria,” a re-education center that reaffirms hyper-femininity like that of “But I’m a Cheerleader,” the dreamy ambiance of “Picnic at Hanging Rock” and even a little dash of class warfare between the haves and have-nots like in “Metropolis.” Yet, somehow “Paradise Hills” misses its landing and doesn’t figure out quite how to fold all of these elements into the script.
Despite writing credits split between Waddington, Brian DeLeeuw and Nacho Vigalondo, the script is unrefined and simplistic. Characters explain what they’re doing, instead of just doing it. The plot almost holds no surprise in store until the very end. Much of the dialogue is clunky and unsteadily paced, almost to campy levels of bad delivery but without any degree of fun. The editing by Guillermo de la Cal provides little relief, as a number of the cuts linger on for a second or more too late, neutralizing any sense of rhythm between exposition and action. The futuristic music by Lucas Vidal fits fine, but I hope he’s not the man behind the songs sung by Roberts, Jovovich and González because those were dreadful moments.
