Switchblade Romance’s psychoanalytical focus undermines conventional movie expectations both implicitly and explicitly. At the implicit level, there is an almost apologetic nod to Hollywood with an overturning car stunt. Working back from the end of the film, it becomes apparent that such an accident did not physically take place. This serves to underlie the fact that the film’s true significance resides in the psychological states being portrayed - the physical crash was purely imaginary, whist the psychic crash proves all too real. At the explicit level, the film repeatedly undermines the traditional symbolic order with its representations of a heavily sexualised death drive. In one of the earliest scenes, this is presaged by the manner in which the phrase “giving head” is depicted with pathological visual literalness. The imaginary male killer is shown to be receiving fellatio before the head in question is thrown out of the van - pre-decapitated. Soon after, the patriarchal head of the family is again rather literally removed - this time, beheaded by a piece of his own furniture. “Why‌” is the forlorn question that whistles through the serrated windpipe of the dying mother of this particular Oedipal family wrecked by an outburst of extreme, yet methodically executed, violence - a destructive orgy of sublimated sexual energy caused by the killer’s inability to repress her Sapphic longings.

In initial ignorance of subsequent plot developments, the viewer naturally assumes this “why‌” is an existential question about a specific case of random violence, but as the film progresses we find that it in fact represents a shocked questioning of the depths of desire and the profound consequences it may have for those who welcome it without adequate caution. The repressed nature of the women’s relationship is hinted at early on. Any suspicions generated by Marie’s butch haircut and behaviour towards Alexa are initially quashed when the latter admits that she slept with a man, but a certain tension is maintained when, in response to the playful accusation of being a slut, Alexa accuses Marie of being afraid of sex - an accusation that appears to have some resonance. Whilst Marie smokes outside before turning in for the night, sexual frisson re-emerges as she voyeuristically observes her friend showering through the bathroom window. There is a hint that she is seen by Alexa doing this, but this is not dwelt upon and Marie goes back inside.

The elemental power of the repressed sexual tension between the two women (about to play itself out so explosively) is foregrounded by the contrast to be made with a series of weak men. The nouveau-rustique father was thought of as a hippy by his neighbours for the first five years he lived there and despite fixing the farmhouse up in an area where real working farms are scarce, we see that his work is computer-based. Other potentially patriarchal figures are presented as underwhelming. The countryside police chief arrives at a crime scene in his pyjamas and a potential male rescuer turns out to be less a knight-in-shining-armour than an ineffectual Mr Bean as Marie phallically wields a saw cuts through both him and his car. The one strong male character is the imagined murderer. “He” evinces fox-like cunning and peasant solidity/insouciance throughout his murdering spree until we find out that he is in fact the phantasmic embodiment of Marie’s female desire.

Big stick
“No-one will come between us” is the mantra that begins and ends the film spoken by a traumatised Marie in her isolation room . It is momentarily a literal truth as the psychotic killer is only eliminated when Marie is “kebabbed” with an iron rod, by the object of her desire - Alexa. Whilst the murderous nature of the desire is killed off, the desire itself stubbornly remains. Intriguingly, despite having the opportunity, Alexa does not kill Marie and when, looking through a one-way mirror at the end of the film, she asks for confirmation that she can’t be seen, the final action we witness is Marie immediately sensing her presence and instinctively reaching out to her ... The 17th century German mystic Angelus Silesius wrote “Die Rose ist ohne warum; Sie blühet, weil Sie blühet” [The Rose is without an explanation; She blooms, because She blooms] Whilst there is there is no real answer to the “why‌” of a beautiful red rose, there is similarly no precise answer or logical “why‌” in this film’s red-in-tooth-and-claw brutality. Rather, Switchblade Romance vividly portrays the underlying violence of our most instinctive drives, it shows the disastrous consequences that can accompany not only the return of the repressed but also getting too close to the object of your desire, the blood and darkness of our unconscious - le rouge et noir!