Daughter Rite
1979·Documentary·49m
7.1
★
A feminist documentary about female relationships, especially between mother and daughter.
Directed by Michelle Citron
woman director
IMDB
N/A
Crew
Michelle Citron
Director
Popular Reviews
4 reviews
frenchie
10.0★ · 04/05/26
:( absolute tits
:( absolute tits
Conor Larkin
It's a sad and scary world where mothers and daughters often blame each other for what patriarchy does to their relationship. Heartbreaking.
Sally's review made me aware of this film and is a perfect insight into its theme's
Sally's review made me aware of this film and is a perfect insight into its theme's
It's a sad and scary world where mothers and daughters often blame each other for what patriarchy does to their relationship. Heartbreaking.
Sally's review made me aware of this film and is a perfect insight into its theme's
Sally's review made me aware of this film and is a perfect insight into its theme's
Welldunn
5.0★ · 08/27/24
What a film class intro
What a film class intro
Ghoulie
10.0★ · 07/20/24
The way the footage is distorted says everything.
Through the manipulations, we understand the voice. The voice without the ability to overcome memorial intrusion. The repetitive vignettes move forwards and backwards, forever in a manner that directs the viewer to extrapolate the horror of remembering a troubled youth. DAUGHTER RITE is uncanny, terrifying in its proximity to truth, shown through warm frames and recollections of innocent folly. The real truth is that these glimpses of childish play belie a deep fear and uncertainty impervious to the effects of time.
I would like to draw attention to a single moment where we are shown a sidewalk, and the film loops over and over, like a musical arpeggio to oblivion. The scale, the order of things, effects time to a state of otherworldliness and poisons the viewer's perspective. There's a strange realism here in the way the film refuses to cut, drawing attention to every conceivable detail contained wherein. In doing this, we are forced to meditate, to feel the pain, to see what the voice sees.
The empathy of this film is so palpable, so inherent in its ontological construction, that tears are indeed inevitable before its heart-wrenching conclusion. Mothers are loving, kind, corruptible, sacrificing, dangerous, abusive, critical, disdainful, and like the film, capable of remembering the most minute detail just as their offspring do, for better or for worse.
We can only take what we wish to remember and love, and leave the rest to wither away.
How sad :(
Through the manipulations, we understand the voice. The voice without the ability to overcome memorial intrusion. The repetitive vignettes move forwards and backwards, forever in a manner that directs the viewer to extrapolate the horror of remembering a troubled youth. DAUGHTER RITE is uncanny, terrifying in its proximity to truth, shown through warm frames and recollections of innocent folly. The real truth is that these glimpses of childish play belie a deep fear and uncertainty impervious to the effects of time.
I would like to draw attention to a single moment where we are shown a sidewalk, and the film loops over and over, like a musical arpeggio to oblivion. The scale, the order of things, effects time to a state of otherworldliness and poisons the viewer's perspective. There's a strange realism here in the way the film refuses to cut, drawing attention to every conceivable detail contained wherein. In doing this, we are forced to meditate, to feel the pain, to see what the voice sees.
The empathy of this film is so palpable, so inherent in its ontological construction, that tears are indeed inevitable before its heart-wrenching conclusion. Mothers are loving, kind, corruptible, sacrificing, dangerous, abusive, critical, disdainful, and like the film, capable of remembering the most minute detail just as their offspring do, for better or for worse.
We can only take what we wish to remember and love, and leave the rest to wither away.
How sad :(
The way the footage is distorted says everything.
Through the manipulations, we understand the voice. The voice without the ability to overcome memorial intrusion. The repetitive vignettes move forwards and backwards, forever in a manner that directs the viewer to extrapolate the horror of remembering a troubled youth. DAUGHTER RITE is uncanny, terrifying in its proximity to truth, shown through warm frames and recollections of innocent folly. The real truth is that these glimpses of childish play belie a deep fear and uncertainty impervious to the effects of time.
I would like to draw attention to a single moment where we are shown a sidewalk, and the film loops over and over, like a musical arpeggio to oblivion. The scale, the order of things, effects time to a state of otherworldliness and poisons the viewer's perspective. There's a strange realism here in the way the film refuses to cut, drawing attention to every conceivable detail contained wherein. In doing this, we are forced to meditate, to feel the pain, to see what the voice sees.
The empathy of this film is so palpable, so inherent in its ontological construction, that tears are indeed inevitable before its heart-wrenching conclusion. Mothers are loving, kind, corruptible, sacrificing, dangerous, abusive, critical, disdainful, and like the film, capable of remembering the most minute detail just as their offspring do, for better or for worse.
We can only take what we wish to remember and love, and leave the rest to wither away.
How sad :(
Through the manipulations, we understand the voice. The voice without the ability to overcome memorial intrusion. The repetitive vignettes move forwards and backwards, forever in a manner that directs the viewer to extrapolate the horror of remembering a troubled youth. DAUGHTER RITE is uncanny, terrifying in its proximity to truth, shown through warm frames and recollections of innocent folly. The real truth is that these glimpses of childish play belie a deep fear and uncertainty impervious to the effects of time.
I would like to draw attention to a single moment where we are shown a sidewalk, and the film loops over and over, like a musical arpeggio to oblivion. The scale, the order of things, effects time to a state of otherworldliness and poisons the viewer's perspective. There's a strange realism here in the way the film refuses to cut, drawing attention to every conceivable detail contained wherein. In doing this, we are forced to meditate, to feel the pain, to see what the voice sees.
The empathy of this film is so palpable, so inherent in its ontological construction, that tears are indeed inevitable before its heart-wrenching conclusion. Mothers are loving, kind, corruptible, sacrificing, dangerous, abusive, critical, disdainful, and like the film, capable of remembering the most minute detail just as their offspring do, for better or for worse.
We can only take what we wish to remember and love, and leave the rest to wither away.
How sad :(
Dylan
8.0★ · 10/23/22