Seven Veils
Seyfried shines; albeit in a film that muddles through the ethics and hurdles involved in using art to address trauma
The idea of “falling… with style” can mean many things. For many, it is synonymous with the climatic scene in “Toy Story.” An infamous moment in film where Woody and Buzz find their way back to Andy. Through another understanding, I often link it with a work like “Seven Veils.” What appears first as an object or piece of art that indicates the graciousness of flight; only for momentum to stop. It ends up, you know, “falling… with style.”
“Seven Veils” represents the second collaboration between director Atom Egoyan (“Exotica,” “The Sweet Hereafter”) and Amanda Seyfried (“Mamma Mia!” “Mank”). Their first film together, “Chloe”, ended up as an impassive journey about a woman named Catherine (Julianne Moore) questioning if her husband (Liam Neeson) is cheating on her. Moore’s character looks to a prostitute named Chloe (Seyfried) to examine the alleged infidelity of Neeson’s character. Only from there for it all to go haywire.
Fourteen years later, we have "Seven Veils." A story littered with scandal, romantic pasts, and the idea of how one confronts trauma. Seyfried plays our lead, Jeanine. We immediately meet Jeanine, as she stands alone inside a Toronto opera house.
Soon after, we follow her as she makes her way through her singers rehearsing. Only for her to diverge over to a backdrop of watching a little girl meander through a forest. From the start, it is clear that Jeanine is about to undergo a process that will either break or liberate her.
At the request of her recently deceased mentor, Charles (not shown), Jeanine now is in place to direct the opera “Salome.” A story all too personal for Jeanine, as it is Charles’ most acclaimed work. Also, a work that Jeanine “heavily inspired” as a child (Elizabeth Reeve). The rest of the film dials in on how intimate Charles’s version of "Salome" is for Jeanine.
The most crucial choice that Egoyan makes is having Jeanine speak to an absent Charles through voice recordings. On the face, she does this to chronicle the process and choices behind her version of "Salome." Yet, it becomes obvious that this is a tool by Egoyan to have Jeanine share aloud the inner feelings she had about Charles and how to make "Salome" in her image. These “conversations” with Jeanine start with expressions of self-doubt about how she can honor Charles. Quickly, we learn the two had a romantic past. With little subtleness, Egoyan finds any chance to remind the viewer that Jeanine remains haunted. Reminded by Charles, her father, and how "Salome" is so connected with her inner self.
Jeanine has many moments where her past pours into her directorial efforts. About 75 minutes through, they are almost to opening night. We follow Jeanine around the stage as she frantically tries to compose herself in the background of Salome doing a veil dance for her step-father, Herod Antipas (Michael Schade). Another scene that sticks out involves Jeanine interrupting the orchestra practice. She ignores the composer, walks to the stage, and looks at the woman playing Salome (Ambur Braid). Jeanine through the music continuing to play is unfazed. There is an urgency. Jeanine speaks in such a way that only she can describe how Salome can act in a given scene. As we see in the film, a moment she did once herself.
Jeanine sees herself as Salome in her life. Herod represents her actual father (Ryan McDonald). Thus, Charles represents John the Baptist. If that sounds confusing, it is as much so in the film.
Egoyan puts a lot of abstract ideas into the character of Jeanine. Battling an out-of-kilter pace, Seyfried does her best to mesh something out of it. The aforementioned voice recordings and at-home videos between a young Jeanine and her father are present throughout. These act as the ways Egoyan attempts to bring the viewer a closer look at how Jeanine deals with her present situation. Ideally, we are to believe that the film ends with a sort of closure for Jeanine. Whether that aim comes to fruition is a lingering doubt from this viewer.
During the movie, we also meet Jeanine’s husband, Paul (Mark O’Brien). Along with the prop artist, Clea (Rebecca Liddiard).
Paul and Jeanine are husband and wife in name only. While their daughter, Lizzie (Maya Misaljevic), is a witness to their relationship unraveling. Paul represents yet another man in Jeanine’s life who fails her. He is already sleeping with Dimitra (Maia Jae Bastidas) the caregiver of Jeanine’s mother Margot (Lynne Griffin) almost immediately after their "break" begins.
We get a couple of scenes with Paul and Jeanine at the beginning, but nothing much in the latter stages. Paul’s storyline is one of the several secondary plot lines that loom with little detail.
As the film progresses, we see more of Clea. Her purpose for the story does not become apparent until the singer who plays John the Baptist (Michael Kupfer-Radecky) in the stage production sexually assaults her. After much pushback from the Opera Company, she releases the video of the assault transpiring. She has romantic history with Ambur, along with a relationship with Rachel (Salome’s understudy, played by Vinessa Antione). The movie does not dedicate enough time or holistic intention for either side story.
While it is crucial to provide stories of the abuse that can occur behind the scenes, it is not quite clear how Clea elevates the larger story around Jeanine. As in Jeanine’s case, I largely found her story incomplete. These individuals confront their traumas. Still, it seems by the end they have only scratched the surface of how they will continue to live with their pasts.
For someone who has directed the stage production of “Salome,” Egoyan has quite a background with the source material. By the end, I kept trying to answer the question of why Jeanine directs this play. Why does Charles want her to do this after his death? Is it malicious? Is it out of compassion? Those questions and many more character motivations in a modern-day version of the play remain unanswered.