Liv Schulman enjoys working with figures who become alter egos of sorts. After the investigator in her metaphysical detective series Control, she introduces us to a new avatar. The point here is to reach a certain level of exposure. Thus, in the opening scene, we discover bit by bit this mutant clone and her peculiar attire, who recounts her dreams through puzzling images. This figure, a crude collage of CGI fragments and live-action shots, exudes angst and desires. This material guides us though a disorienting journey, mixing a string of personal obsessions, including references to Marx, Freud, Haraway and many others, with a delightful sense of humour – a trademark of Schulman’s work (films, texts, installations, performances). Under the guise of a fun delirium, in a floating world with an unquiet language, here and there appear a protuberant breast, a giant leech, humanoid earthworms, stones and other fluid or soft figures with low-fi digital bodies. From one digression to the next, often peppered with kinky associations, the political gesture that slowly takes shape invokes sex and libido (obviously), the affairs of the world (a vociferation about Perón), scatology (Freud again, as always), the economy, and a joyfully mocked masculinity. With a clone that perpetually goes wrong, breaks down and gets going again, the film keeps moving forward like a tornado in slow motion, a cozy nightmare, all the while poking fun at our contemporary failings. Persona is a journey though the realm of urges and fears – the raw materials of some libidinal politics -, and beyond the initial prompting to create, it deals with tangible realities, our actual and even scarier form of delirium.
(Nicolas Feodoroff)