Madfabulous made its world premiere at the 40th edition of BFI Flare, bringing to screen the extraordinary life of Henry Paget, the 5th Marquess of Anglesey, a flamboyant aristocrat who lived at the end of the 19th century.

HersToday spoke with the film’s writer, Lisa Baker, about the film’s narrative, her research process, and redefining the relationships at its heart.

“I couldn’t believe it,” Baker says. “He was the most exotic person in the world that I’d never heard of.” Originally from Holyhead, Anglesey, Baker was approached by director Celyn Jones to develop the screenplay. What struck her immediately was the contrast: a figure of theatrical excess and global intrigue, yet largely unknown in modern day within the very landscape he inhabited. Jones, she explains, offered her complete creative flexibility from the outset. “There were no restraints. He trusted me to go into the research and bring something of my own to it.”

Rather than relying on conventional biographies, Baker grounded her work in archival material – most notably the catalogues from what was described as the “sale of the century”, a series of auctions through which Henry Paget’s possessions were dispersed. These catalogues became a point of entry into the character. Through lists of unworn garments, luxury items, and personal belongings, a psychological portrait began to emerge. “You start to see the scale of it; the sheer volume, the extravagance. From that, you begin to ask: what kind of person owns these things?” Alongside this archival approach, Baker developed a more immersive process, building an extensive music playlist that allowed the story to evolve beyond the page. “Even when I wasn’t writing – if I was driving or cooking – I’d have the playlist on. It helped me think about the characters and the relationships between them.”

The film’s timeline also reflects deliberate narrative decisions. While Henry Paget’s life began in Wales much earlier, the story concentrates on a ten-year period, allowing continuity in performance while maintaining emotional focus. “I pushed for seeing Henry over ten years. We brought him to Wales at eighteen rather than eight.” Flashbacks, particularly those involving his mother Blanche, anchor the film thematically. “She was the one who left that lasting impression – that he should be true to himself. That carries through everything.”

Despite her detailed knowledge of the subject, Baker is careful not to impose interpretation onto the cast. “I never tell actors what to do – I’m not an actor. But I made myself available. When they had questions, we could have a full and frank conversation.” This openness extended to the development of Lily’s character, whose emotional position operates in contrast to Henry’s volatility. “She has to be his strength. He’s so flamboyant, so changeable – and she endures. She loves him, but she knows he will never love her in the way she wants.”

At the centre of the film is a relationship that does not fit any straightforward categorisation. Rather than presenting it through a conventional romantic lens, Baker approaches it as something more nuanced. “My interpretation was that theirs was a loving relationship, but a platonic one.” She draws on contemporary parallels to articulate this dynamic – relationships formed out of mutual needs and understanding, rather than desire. “I’ve always been interested in the idea that you can build a life together without it being sexual.”

Within the social context of the time, the marriage also reflects expectation and pressure. Henry is expected to conform; Lily requires stability. Their union, in this reading, becomes both pragmatic and emotionally complex. “I don’t believe there was ever a sexual motive behind their relationship.” For Baker, bringing this dynamic to the screen is not incidental, but intentional. “Platonic relationships like this exist everywhere in society. They’re loving, they’re important – but they’re often not celebrated.”

Although the story is anchored in North Wales, it carries a distinctly contemporary resonance. The landscape is not just a backdrop, but part of the film’s identity – setting the tone and allowing it to speak beyond its setting. “There’s something about Anglesey,” Baker reflects. “People say there are ley lines there.”

Through a combination of archival exploration and instinctive storytelling, Baker writes a narrative that reaches beyond historical retelling. Instead, Madfabulous presents a portrayal of identity, performance, and connection through a mercurial character living an extraordinary lifestyle.

The 40th BFI Flare: London LGBTQIA+ Film Festival takes place 18th–29th March at BFI Southbank.

Xiaodan He is a Montreal-based filmmaker and director whose work draws from her experience as a Chinese immigrant in Canada. Having spent over two decades in the city, her storytelling is shaped by the textures of culture, identity, and place. Montreal, My Beautiful follows her first feature and continues in this direction, centring narratives revolve around adaptation and integration. Presented at BFI Flare as its first European premiere, the film brings a distinctly Montreal-set story onto an international stage, while remaining loyal to the specificity of its characters.

It follows Feng Xia, a middle-aged Chinese woman living within a structured routine, defined by long-established habits and expectations. Her days move between domestic responsibilities and a steady, familiar rhythm that leaves little space for variation, or genuine passion. That begins to change when she meets Camille, a younger woman whose self introduces a different tempo and energy to Feng Xia. Through their bond, Feng Xia starts to shift slightly beyond the edges of her existing life, stepping into spaces that feel unfamiliar, yet quietly compelling.

Following the screening at BFI Flare, Xiaodan He joined for a Q&A, reflecting on the film’s origins, its characters, and the thinking behind it. She described the project as a natural extension of her own connection to Montreal – a city she has called home for more than 20 years. Drawing from that proximity, the story takes shape through a lens of lived experience.

At its centre is Chinese immigrant life, approached through a more specific viewpoint: a middle-aged Chinese woman. This perspective, she noted, offered a less commonly seen entry point, allowing the story to unfold in a way that feels registered without detachment from reality. In writing Feng Xia, He spoke of a balance between simplicity and being bold. The character carries a vague confident quality, one that allows her to move forward even in the face of uncertainty. While bound by cultural expectations, family dynamics, and routines, her journey is not packaged through overt conflict. Instead, it unfolds in small progression, through moments of curiosity, subtle changes in behaviour, and a growing openness to the unfamiliar.

For the lead role, He was introduced to Joan Chen through a mutual, long-time collaborator. After reading the script, Chen responded swiftly to the character of Feng Xia and agreed to take on the role. In preparation, she learned French over several months, working with a language coach alongside her other commitments – a detail that reflects the film’s rooted in Montreal’s everyday linguistic-driven landscape.

Writing, Dialogue & Character Tension
He described the script as something developed across multiple drafts, allowing space to refine both structure and dialogue. Her focus remained on precision; keeping exchanges concise, with meaning carried through shorter, more direct lines rather than extended dialogue. Each character’s voice was written with attention to tone and manner, giving them distinct flavour and ways of speaking. With limited rehearsal time, He relied heavily on instinct during filming, making quick decisions while staying closely anchored to the script.

When speaking about the lead character, Feng Xia, He noted her constant swaps between hesitation and action. There is an awareness of the unknown, but also a steady pull forward; not toward resolution, but toward motion itself. That balance snugs quietly at the core of the film. The film lingers on small decisions, subtle gestures, and moments of pause.

At the end of the day, Montreal, My Beautiful remains a constant reminder – never overstated, yet always there -telling a story that moves gently, favouring its natural shifts over dramatic turns.

The 40th BFI Flare: London LGBTQIA+ Film Festival takes place 18th–29th March at BFI Southbank.

Across different stages of life, questions of identity do not necessarily begin or end at a fixed point. For some, they emerge early, taking shape through observation, emulating, and uncertainty. For others, they may resurface later under different circumstances. At the 40th BFI Flare, Big Girls Don’t Cry and Montreal, My Beautiful both zoom in on this ongoing process, though different in setting and life stage. One follows a teenage girl at the early stages of self-discovery, navigating feelings she does not yet fully understand. The other focuses on a middle-aged woman who finds a sense of self-discovery outside the structure of an established life. Both protagonists have male figures in their respective lives; one creates confusion, the other containment. One struggles to understand desire, the other struggles to interpret it. Together, the two films beautifully present identity not as a resolved state, but as something that continues to evolve, and experienced.

Big Girls Don’t Cry is a coming-of-age film that takes place over the course of a single summer in 2006, following Sid, a 14-year-old girl living in a small town in New Zealand. The film centres on her day-to-day experiences as she navigates friendships, family dynamics, and shifting social environments during a transitional stage of adolescence. Sid (a striking breakout performance by newcomer Ani Palmer) spends much of her time observing and interacting with a group of older teenagers, Lana (Beatrix Rain Wolfe), the popular girl in particular, whom Sid is somewhat infatuated with. Wanting to be included, Sid begins to adopt the behaviours she sees around her. Sid spends much of her time with her close friend Tia (Ngataitangirua Hita), though their dynamic changes due to Sid being part of the older group. She joins in drinking alcohol, smoking pot, and partying, gradually asserting herself into situations that feel unfamiliar but are perceived as necessary for social acceptance, including flirting with a trio of city boys. These moments are part of the social world she’s stepping into, and she moves through them cautiously, still figuring things out as she goes. Her attention is gradually drawn toward Freya (Rain Spencer), an American friend of her sister, Adele (Tara Canton). Their interactions are more low-key and comfortable, often playing out in secluded spaces or brief moments together, without anything being openly said about how Sid feels. Freya introduces a different kind of mixed social energy into Sid’s world. As the summer progresses, Sid navigates between different settings and gatherings, each bringing her different exposure to new experiences. Her interactions with her father Leo (Noah Taylor) – a struggling former artist now working as a mower, whose alcoholism at times leaves him emotionally absent – are marked by a mix of routine exchanges and moments of tension. Meanwhile, Tia’s older brother Diggy (Poroaki Merritt-McDonald) is an older boy who adds dynamic to Sid’s summer exploration. The cool kids group consists of Lana, Stevie (Sophia Kirkwood Smith), and the boys they met at the beach: Kyle (Ian Blackburn), Andy (Emile Boyle), and Willy (Caleb Cameron Lee). Things take a turn when Sid sees Freya in an intimate moment, which changes something in her. The film follows Sid through a series of small moments rather than culminating in one big event, with beach scenes, parties, and encounters building up over the summer as it plays out. Paloma Schneideman’s debut feature leans into a reflective, measured approach, creating a narrative through a sense of hindsight that brings a certain emotional clarity. Overall, Big Girls Don’t Cry is a slow-moving yet fascinating portrait of adolescence defined by observation and natural shifts in awareness. The film takes the audience through small interactions and changes in behaviour with a superbly natural performance by the leading cast, while the supporting cast reinforces its subtle tone. Schneideman refreshingly keeps the focus on lived experience rather than resolution, allowing moments to go by without emphasis. The film ends with Sid seizing the day, where her sense of self is starting to mature but is still largely unspoken.

At the other end of the spectrum, Montreal, My Beautiful follows a 53-year-old Chinese immigrant living in Montreal who’s beginning to experience resurfaced emotions. The film centres on her daily life, led by routine, family responsibilities, and the expectations that come with maintaining a household. Much of her time is spent between domestic spaces and a close-knit Chinese expat community environment, where her role within the family is clearly defined. Directed by Chinese-Canadian filmmaker Xiaodan He, Montreal, My Beautiful revolves around Feng Xia (Joan Chen), who has been living in Montreal for fourteen years with her husband Jun (John Xu), with whom she runs a small convenience store, while raising their two children, Joy (Pei Yao Xu) and Dong Dong (Anzhe Angelo Zhang). Her life is structured by typical family duty and expectations. Seeking to improve her French, Feng Xia enrols in a language class, where she meets Joseph (Zion-Luna Ribeaux Valdès), a young queer man from Cuba who has moved to Montreal for love. She begins to reflect on her past, including feelings connected to a childhood friendship that were never fully explored. After being introduced to online dating, she takes steps into unfamiliar territory and eventually meets Camille (Charlotte Aubin), a Québécoise woman. As her interactions with Camille become more intense, the balance between the two sides of her life becomes increasingly intricate. She continues her routines at home and at the shop, responsibly maintaining her roles as a wife and mother. Feng Xia and Camille’s interactions deepen as Camille’s openness and ease create a contrast to Feng Xia’s more reserved and routine-driven life. Over time, this develops into a more intimate dynamic, with moments of both emotional and physical connection. The film does not hinge on a single turning point, although there is a life-changing decision made by the family following the events. However, the film maintains its neutrality without forcing a clear resolution, allowing her story to remain open-ended.

The 40th BFI Flare: London LGBTQIA+ Film Festival takes place 18th–29th March at BFI Southbank.

Whittaker brings a commanding presence to her role, embodying the Duchess’s fierce spirit and determination of someone who clearly knows the fact that she is above her accuser’s rank. This knowing represents itself in a portrayal that captures the essence of a woman who refuses to be subjugated, despite the overwhelming odds stacked against her.

Jodie Whittaker’s return to London’s West End’s stage in Zinnie Harris’s adaptation of The Duchess of Amalfi is both a thrilling and thought-provoking experience. This modern interpretation of John Webster’s Jacobean tragedy, now set against an ambiguous contemporary backdrop, explores themes of power, control, and survival in a world imagined by patriarchal forces. While the production fills with unevenness, it ultimately illuminates the grim realities of those seemingly in power, and the resilience of those they attempt to oppress. In this retelling, the central narrative remains rooted in Webster’s original tale of a noble widow who – after years under the regime of a husband who was extremely controlling – secretly marries her servant. The consequences of her desire for autonomy are tested, as she faces ruthless demands and persecution from her brothers.

Harris’s adaptation makes a bold choice by integrating modern elements such as contemporary language, swearing, cross-dressing and musical interludes, while maintaining the play’s original tension. The production opens with a striking industrial set designed by Tom Piper, featuring white metal gantries that evoke a stark, clinical environment. This not only reflects the coldness of the characters’ motivations but also serves as a literal structure for surveillance and control, reinforcing the theme of a dystopian flavour. The staging is marked by clever directorial choices that enhance the fluctuation and stakes of the story. Scenes of domestic violence and psychological torment are amplified through strobing lighting and sound effects. Ben Ormerod’s lighting creates shadows that engulf the stage during pivotal moments, visually representing the dark theme. Similarly, the use of music – initially intrusive – gradually transforms into a haunting requiem, echoing the sorrow and tragedy that envelops the bloodbath ending of the story. The first act seems cluttered with exposition, as characters often articulate their emotions and motivations somewhat explicitly. Lines such as “I am not her equal” and “I’m impulsive and headstrong” detract from the subtleties that could have been conveyed through action and expression. Perhaps complex fluidity and nuanced dynamism are more expected from a production of this calibre. As the play progresses into the second act, it finds its footing, drawing audiences into the horror of not only the Duchess’s, but everyone else’s fates. Whittaker’s performance truly shines in the later scenes, as she navigates the psychological torture with climactic moments that are visceral. Whittaker delivers Webster’s iconic line, “I am the Duchess of Malfi still,” with a defiance that resonates deeply, leaving an indelible mark on the audience.

The character dynamics, particularly between Whittaker’s Duchess and the men who seek to control her, are intriguing. Rory Fleck Byrne’s Ferdinand is portrayed with an unsettling intensity, embodying the brutal and destructive nature of his incestuous desires and secret longing for approval from his fiery twin. Paul Ready’s Cardinal offers a chilling performance, steeped in hypocrisy and moral depravity, as he navigates his relationships with the women in his life. Their moral corruption and personal desires, masked by a facade of righteousness or duty, emphasise the destructive consequences of patriarchal hypocrisy. The play critiques how this false morality not only harms the Duchess but ultimately consumes and backfires to the perpetrators. The ensemble cast – including Jude Owusu, Elizabeth Ayodele, Hubert Burton, Matti Houghton, Hannah Visocchi, Kerill Kelly, Greg Snowden, and Amy Vicary-Smith – supports these lead performances with each interpretation, adding depth to the oppressive environment that surrounds the Duchess. The interactions between these characters reflect the broader themes of power, superficiality and vulnerability that permeate the narrative. The attempts to merge different tones – Tarantinoesque violence with solemn tragedy – can feel jarring at times, leaving the audience uncertain about the intended emotional response. Some moments of levity, while intended to offer relief, clash with the overall somber tone of the play. Yet, amid the chaos and bloodshed, there is a glimmer of hope. The heir of the Duchess survives, symbolising resilience and balance. The survival signifies inner power against the oppressive forces that seek to destroy those who dare to defy societal norms. While the lives of the protagonists are marred by tragedy, the continuation of the bloodline offers a sense of renewal, hinting that the cycle of violence will – with no question – eventually be broken. This crucial aspect of the narrative serves as a reminder that while the struggle for power may lead to tragic ends, the potential for survival and renewal remains. It is a testament to the enduring spirit of those who refuse to be defined by their circumstances. Overall, The Duchess of Malfi presents a bold, relevant and ambitious reimagining of a classic text. The cast’s powerful performances anchor the production, bringing to life characters whose struggle against patriarchal forces can make a difference. The adaptation portrays the desperation of those in positions of authority who attempt to control others but lack true substance or inner strength. This theme suggests that hollow power ultimately leads to self-destruction, as seen in the tragic ends of the Duchess’s brothers. They are motivated by dominance but are revealed as empty in their purpose and humanity. It effectively hints at the play’s exploration of empty, oppressive power structures and their inevitable downfall. Its depiction of power dynamics and the fight for autonomy resonates, ultimately inviting audiences to reflect on the complexities of control and survival, pinpointing the unnecessary and destructive legacies the world should leave behind.

The Duchess [of Malfi] is currently running at Trafalgar Theatre until 20th December 2024.