I've been putting off writing this blog post because I haven't had this many feelings about a film in a very, very long time. Let me begin at the beginning. The other day I was sitting in a coffee shop pretending to do my film theory reading (actually counting the tiles on the wall and staring at an uncomfortable middle aged couple feed each other small pieces of a muffin) when I decided to go on instagram. As I scrolled through pictures of baked goods, Annie Larson's knitwear process and the all-to-occasional selfie, I stumbled upon a picture of two girls in retro bikinis laughing under the sun. "DAISIES," the caption read. "the most marvelous film almost ever." Fully embracing any excuse to pull myself away from Kracauer, I began to manically search any and all information I could find on this marvelous, marvelous looking film. Marvelous indeed.
The following afternoon I forced my boyfriend to forgo his previous plans and instead walk 50 minutes to get an almond lemon pound cake and watch Daisies with me as the sun set outside. I never recovered again. Maybe it was the fact that I was able to dance around in a light unbuttoned cheetah print jacket hours before (a novelty for Minnesota winters) or the fact that I was eating the most delicious cake I've ever had (a novelty for Minnesota always) but it was most likely the fact that Daisies is just the best film almost ever. Seamlessly weaving shots of purple tinged roast chicken, polka dot frocks and pigtails with flashes of butterfly wings and acid green apples, the film invites you into a surreal dreamworld you never want wake up from. Described as one of the first psychedelic feminist farce, Vera Chytilová's 1966 film Daisies oozes commentary on identity, sexuality, indulgence and femininity strung together with the piercing sound of teen giggles and a very good crown of daisies. So please dear readers, watch Daisies, eat a slice of almond lemon pound cake, and never recover again.