(Double Dare)
Might just be me, but there’s something reassuringly streamlined about the two nziff program launches I’ve had the pleasure of attending. Either they’re clamping down on fringe invites, or the deficit of photographers has seen people reeling into cold-blooded withdrawal; whatever the case, Tuesday night at the Academy was suprisingly devoid of those horrible Karen Walker-designed wasps usually found hovering around bulging cheque books and free champagne. Make no mistake – the alcohol flowed freely, but when there’s a job to do, there’s a job to do, and I haven’t quite graduated into the freewheeling, substance-abused cynicism of Gonzo journalism just yet.

Situated in the foyer, and with flatmate-slash-trusted attorney firmly at side, we attacked the ensemble of serviette-sized delicacies with poise and precision, trying to construct some excuse for a free meal from the ground up. Of course, rabid face stuffing leaves little time for socializing as it is, but it might still be a while before I’m ready to punch with the heavyweights. Rather, I tried to look as unassuming as possible, whilst internally combusting over the string of titles that managed to find their way here from Cannes. Meanwhile, further exploration of the press backpack revealed the inclusion of a single energy bar – a detail that at first seemed amusingly incongruous, but retrospectively makes sense after viewing the estrogen-laded Double Dare, a documentary on female stuntwomen that draws most of its ethnographic kicks from sizing New Zealander Zoë Bell up against American counterpart Jeannie Epper. Don’t take my word for it, but this was in all likelihood the first time that I can remember encountering such an unmitigated native presence in such a definitively yank scene: beholder of a magnetic, rough-edged charisma, Bell manages to co-anchor a landscape that’s alienating in its familiarity, a junket of liposuction, age anxiety, and casual sexism. Epper, notable for the fact that she’s still working post-sixty, claims that she’d eventually like to graduate into stunt-coordinatorship, but admits that it’s an airless dream, given the male-centric nature of the industry. That fact manages to cast a faintly ominous glow over Bell’s career, one that looks set to burn; prior to the screening, I can’t have said that a documentary on the stunt industry was something that I really needed to see – but its obviously retrogressive make-up should at least send a view flags flying that raw-knuckled feminism ain’t dead. Anyway, in the follow-up Q&A, Bell noted that she doesn’t envision herself staying in the game as long as Epper. Given the utilitarian nature of the documentary, let’s just hope that decision is hers to make.—DL