‘Millie Lies Low’: SXSW Review

Dir: Michelle Savill. New Zealand. 2022. 100 mins.

Ana Scotney (The Breaker Upperers) plays the manic yet Machiavellian Millie in writer-director Michelle Savill’s thought exercise on the potential impact of an out-of-control shame spiral. Bound for the adventure of a lifetime, Millie is the recipient of a prestigious architectural scholarship, with an apartment and coveted internship awaiting her in New York. All she has to do is take the flight. Instead, Millie suffers a panic attack and finds herself physically grounded. Her flighty disposition and blind refusal to accept the situation in front of her, from financial barriers and bureaucracy to broken romance and relationships, leads to her delusional fantasy that no one will notice she’s not actually in New York if she just ‘lies low’, posting photoshopped images to Instagram to keep up appearances.

 Savill keeps the tone upbeat, homing in on her character study.

The inspiration for the story came after Savill missed a flight in 2013 to attend the Clermont-Ferrand film festival, where her short Ellen Is Leaving screened in competition before going on to win awards at SXSW and San Francisco. Though Savill only thought about covering up her mistake back then, she later developed a character based on that feeling of embarrassment, exploring what would happen if she had followed that impulse to its most capricious ends. The result is a feature debut most likely to appeal to indie festivals and events looking for less mainstream, more complex depictions of (young) women. It has already enjoyed festival play in New Zealand and in Generation 14plus in Berlin and now screens at SXSW. 

Following his close-ups of the claustrophobic kerfuffle at the gate, Andrew Stroud’s camera slowly tracks Millie’s lone suitcase around the baggage claim; impulse acts quick but fallout takes its time. Millie tries to re-book her flight but learns it will cost close to $2,000, which she doesn’t have. She calls her best friend and classmate Carolyn (Jillian Nguyen), to whom she sold her car. Though Millie knows Carolyn is broke and can’t pay right away, she asks for the money back. Next, she calls her mother for emergency funds, pretending to have lost her laptop during a layover. These are dead-end leads but the lost puppy dog expression on Scotney’s face betrays Millie’s motivations – shame hasn’t stopped her wanting to hear the warm timbre of trusted voices.

Finally, Millie goes to ‘Money in a hurry’ to secure a personal loan but doesn’t have any assets to support her application. In Pink Panther-slapstick style incognito, Millie briefly steals back her car to secure the loan and awaits its processing period in a tent, not far from her mother’s house.

It’s all very amusing, until it isn’t: Millie simply can’t keep up the charade and getting found out means facing everyone else’s expectations of her. The comic build-up earns a cathartic release, but Savill and co-writer Eli Kent don’t give the supporting cast enough material to work with, leaving Scotney to outperform in each of Millie’s quarrels. Rachel House as her well-meaning but misguided missionary mother is underused and given too much exposition to chew through, while Jillian Nguyen is tasked with playing a two-faced bestie in too little screen time. It all amounts to a funny if slightly unearned narrative conflict, involving bodily fluids.

There are opportunities for deeper social commentary, too – from the problems of homelessness to the performativity of social media. Aside from at bars and parties, or when capturing her face lit up with likes from her smartphone, Andrew Stroud’s camera sees Millie in mostly natural light, and Evelyn Ida Morris’ score is sparing. But Savill keeps the tone upbeat, homing in on her character study. From goofy grins to anxiety-ridden wide eyes, Scotney’s range and talent is clear: her comic timing and commitment to Millie’s mania are exemplary. But in centring her above all else, there are a few too many narrative stones left unturned.