Camille emerged fully formed, a she-shaman forged in the era of the return of the witch, expanding the liminal space between traumatic events, taking the silver bullet of all audience assumptions and projections in a tale of female rage – of women hurting other women – all those dark vagina dentata materials blooming a venemous crimson red in the patriarchal dollhouse.
Take two of Berlinale is that, organisationally, it is a festival of extremes. Gliding between its seamlessly sewn edges, sometimes one gets the forgotten sharp pin.
Social exclusion has many faces, the most obvious ones are the ones least discussed. For example, why is the audience cordoned off so that the performers and informers can pass by? Are they to serve the public, or to rule it? If they say they are inviting you in, walk in. See what happens.