A woman in period attire is hurled from a carriage and thuds to the cobblestones, before we hear the word “cut.” The brutal shock to her body is palpable. Being thrown from vehicles or down stairs, sworn at, kicked and spat on is all in a day’s job for the workers we meet in Elena Avdija’s documentary Stuntwomen, tasked with performing the most dangerous scenes on behalf of actresses in the global film industry.
There tends to be more glamour associated with doing stunts in the popular imagination, but that’s because men outnumber women in the job, and their stunts are scripted to reinforce the macho aptitude of the action heroes or villains they shadow. Women, on the other hand, are usually framed as victims, their stunts simulating the humiliation and pain of being raped or beaten senseless. That females often die in horrible ways at the hands of men on screen, and that gender-based violence in cinema shores up patriarchal power in the real world by reinforcing the illusion that the status quo is natural and necessary, is hardly a revelation today, even if actual industry changes are slow. But in casting a light on an unsung profession integral to a movie business obsessed with action and violence, and showing the realities of female stunt work on productions in both Europe and the United States, Avdija offers an ingenious, insightful new angle on industry power balances.
The notion that aggression on-screen is simply make-believe is complicated and powerfully undercut, as we witness what stuntwomen endure in training and shooting to make such scenes credible. And it is often to their detriment both physically and psychologically, even as this demanding labour receives minimal credit when the final product is marketed. Though the somewhat erratic editing means it struggles to find form, Stuntwomen both fascinates and alarms, and should have no trouble securing festival slots, particularly given the momentum created by the MeToo movement.
The film focuses on three stuntwomen at different stages of their career: Virginie, who worked in a Paris cabaret as an acrobat before entering the movie business; circus-trained Petra, who grew up in Switzerland and is trying to diversify into acting; and Estelle, who came to stunt work through parkour, and is still in training. These remarkable subjects all regard their work with a degree of ambivalence. There is pride in their toughness and technical prowess, as they remain in one piece in a physically exacting profession that until recently hired only men. But the thankless invisibility required of stunt doubles (a scene is deemed successful when the audience doesn’t even realise they have appeared) is an added challenge in a highly skilled role that nevertheless regards them as interchangeable bodies-for-hire when injured, since their faces are never shown.
Their bookings range from global action blockbusters to misogynistically brutal, seamier thrillers. As well as in footage from training sessions, on movie sets and in film clips, these stuntwomen appear in conversation with family members and in scenes of solidarity with female colleagues discussing their career experiences. These range from appearing in scenes with minimal protection to augment their realism (one movie “mad woman” was scripted to run barefoot from an asylum in front of car) to modifying their appearance so as not to emasculate male scene partners (another woman had to bend her knees in a love scene with a shorter man, in order to comply with stock Hollywood height norms.)
Crash scenes are also options in their repertoire and, despite their spectacular nature, are considered safer, due to the added protection that the vehicle frame provides to their bodies. They are also, from a behind-the-scenes perspective, much easier to watch, as the sadistic looks on the faces of the male practice partners meting out beatings are almost too credible. This raises a question: to what degree can stuntwomen compartmentalise their work off from reality? A trainee of Estelle’s says that after an abusive boyfriend asphyxiated her in real life, she now finds wrestling training and fight scenes challenging — another indication that the line between real-life trauma and cinematic simulation is thin indeed.
Director: Elena Avdija
Cinematographer: Augustin Losserand
Editing: Myriam Rachmuth
Producers: Marie-Lou Pahud, Agnieszka Ramu
Co-producers: Cecile Lestrade, Elise Hug
Sound Design: Etienne Curchod
Music: Marzella
Production company: Bande a part Films (Switzerland), Alter Ego Production (France)
Sales: Andana Films
Venue: IDFA
In French
84 minutes
