“PUSSY POWER!” we say in unison.
The Laughing Woman is a calculated act of aesthetic seduction and psychological misdirection. Its retrofuturist set design alone is staggering—cold modernist architecture and sleek interiors forming a world that feels both futuristic and thoroughly decayed.
Narratively, it toys with impatience. It wants you to think you’ve figured it out—to wonder where it’s going, to assume it’ll collapse into something obvious or violent. Instead, it keeps rerouting your expectations, relying on psychological tricks rather than cheap shocks. By the time you realise Maria has done this before, the film quietly pulls the rug out from under you.
The final act deliberately unravels, but not out of carelessness. It’s disorienting by design, only to snap back into place with a finale that’s genuinely electrifying. Sadomasochism isn’t used for titillation here. Instead, it’s weaponised to dismantle misogyny, turning power dynamics inside out. The film’s engagement with BDSM, gender warfare, and control feels startlingly intelligent and still uncomfortably relevant.
Especially striking is how the “women as threat” paranoia remains intact over half a century later. The film doesn’t endorse it—it exposes it, fractures it, and leaves it bleeding on the floor.
Smart, subversive, and far sharper than it initially lets on. It knows exactly what you expect from it—and uses that against you. Thanks to Film Bug for this recommendation.
“PUSSY POWER!” we say in unison.
The Laughing Woman is a calculated act of aesthetic seduction and psychological misdirection. Its retrofuturist set design alone is staggering—cold modernist architecture and sleek interiors forming a world that feels both futuristic and thoroughly decayed.
Narratively, it toys with impatience. It wants you to think you’ve figured it out—to wonder where it’s going, to assume it’ll collapse into something obvious or violent. Instead, it keeps rerouting your expectations, relying on psychological tricks rather than cheap shocks. By the time you realise Maria has done this before, the film quietly pulls the rug out from under you.
The final act deliberately unravels, but not out of carelessness. It’s disorienting by design, only to snap back into place with a finale that’s genuinely electrifying. Sadomasochism isn’t used for titillation here. Instead, it’s weaponised to dismantle misogyny, turning power dynamics inside out. The film’s engagement with BDSM, gender warfare, and control feels startlingly intelligent and still uncomfortably relevant.
Especially striking is how the “women as threat” paranoia remains intact over half a century later. The film doesn’t endorse it—it exposes it, fractures it, and leaves it bleeding on the floor.
Smart, subversive, and far sharper than it initially lets on. It knows exactly what you expect from it—and uses that against you. Thanks to Film Bug for this recommendation.
