I am not entirely sure what liberty and rupert wanted to say in this film, BUT I feel it's the absence of explanation and consequentially the absence of tub-thumping didactics that give the film its incredible visceral strength. As a visual, rather than intellectual, statement, it's one of the strongest things I've seen in a long time, with distinct echoes of those Baily/PETA anti-fur advertisements from the late-80s - remember the bleeding fur fashion show (Jean-Paul Gaultier evidently doesn't)?
Politics with feeling is usually bloody. Ross presents herself as product: consumable, consuming and ultimately consumed. There are definite echoes of the concept of vampiristic consumption of the female image within fashion magazine too... but maybe I'm over-considering a primarily visual message?
The film is also achingly beautiful, I feel. one of my favourites.
love,
Alex.