Review: ‘In Fabric’ is a wacky peek at consumerism

The end of World War II brought a new frontier of spending power. “Americans were eager to spend,” and that gave birth to the American dream. Society was peering into a bright new future of shiny home appliances, overpacked shopping malls, and paying with plastic – and we were more than happy to oblige. American consumerism, or “the good life,” was a creed for upward mobility in the working-class, and it soon become an insatiable addiction to spend more, more, more. Such is the crux of Peter Strickland’s In Fabric, a hyper-stylized, pointed, and agonizingly grim look into consumerism, particularly as it relates to the fashion industry and department stores. “The hesitation in your voice soon to be an echo in the recesses of the spheres of retail,” persuades sales clerk Miss Luckmoore, played by Fatma Mohamed, to Marianne Jean-Baptiste’s Shiela, a newly-separated woman getting back into the dating scene.

Shiela is your everywoman – feeling tired and lonesome after a recent split from her husband, who has already found his rebound. She works as a bank teller, lives with her adult son Vince (Jaygann Ayeh), and longs for the touch of a man. She even puts out an ad in the classifieds looking for love or even a pinch of good, intelligent conversation. And she’s always game for a good bargain. Upon watching a delightfully outlandish and hypnotizing television commercial for Dentley & Soper department story, Shiela makes her way downtown and pokes through the sales racks for the outfit that’ll make her really pop. An “artery red” dress, a color choice that is a bit too on-the-nose, catches her eye, and with a 60 percent discount, how could she (or anyone) really resist?! Always talking in extravagant purple prose, Miss Luckmoore uses her poised charm to lure Shiela in making the purchase.

In Fabric‘s first half needles through Shiela’s otherwise ho-hum life and a slow, dark descent that even she can’t recognize. She’s blinded by the beauty of the dress, which makes everyone stun in a size 36, and how it makes her feel. The film slams upon the absurdity of such a premise, leaning fully into the plush, flowing gown’s carnal bloodlust and the department store’s cult practitioners. Miss Luckmoore and her team of sales clerks huddle around a clothes-less mannequin to perform an ungodly ritual – the scene is particularly grotesque and nauseating. Mr. Lundy, played by Richard Bremmer, comes under a catatonic state, in which he unzips his pants and masturbates as Luckmoore locks him with her eyes and blood spills from the lifeless doll’s makeshift vagina. It’s a grand, symbolic gesture to signify our primal instincts when it comes to retail. We just can’t escape it – or control it.

Quite disappointingly, the second story, which ties directly into Shiela’s, is not nearly as effective. In fact, it deflates any and all momentum – perhaps an anthology TV series would have been a better fit. Appliance repairman Reg (Leo Bill) crosses paths with the red dress during his bachelor party after his pal snags the garment from a local thrift story; an ill-fated decision that leads Reg down a very similar, and chilling, path as Shiel before him. Nothing new is presented in the last hour, and you find yourself in a literal waking dream, mimicking that of Reg and his wife Babs (Hayley Squires). Strickland remains a tour de force, combing very obvious Dario Argento influence into his own, piecing frantic montages as scene transitions and textured, lingering shots, throughout the entire two-hour run time. However, it is Marianne Jean-Baptiste’s outstanding performance that’ll haunt you most.

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