Fairy Dust 2016

The film opens with Tove Lo as herself, returning to a motel room late at night. What begins as a seemingly casual moment quickly turns unpredictable: laughter erupts into furious outbursts, followed by sudden tears, painting a mood that will thread through the film’s emotional weather. This opening sequence sets a raw, intimate tone, inviting the audience into a day-to-night shift of sensations and impulses.

The next morning, Lorna, Lina Esco speaks with harsh candor about women, motherhood, and weddings, insisting on her own independence while striking a cigarette between her fingers. She hones in on a neighbor’s quarrel, belittling the husband as “a little bitch” and calling the wife a hypocrite for wanting fulfillment on her own terms. Lorna is blunt about numbing pain, and Tove is drawn into this volatile atmosphere as the two women lie back on the bed, share cigarettes, and lean into a moment of closeness that blurs boundaries between affection and desire. The scene blends heat with discomfort, pulling the viewer into a space where dependence and agency coexist in uneasy tension.

That night, Tove Lo heads to a club and wanders through the crowd, wondering why “it’s not working anymore” and recalling how there was a time when it all felt like endless access. She begins dancing with strangers, drawing people into her orbit as they imitate her moves. In a charged reversal, Lorna’s presence cuts through the room, and the two women clash before finding a reconciliation that culminates in a kiss as the club lights flash, a moment that echoes the intensity of their bond (the scene nods to the electric energy of Lady Wood). After this confrontation, Lorna and Tove drive back to the motel, and Lorna recounts how they first met—when Tove was in love with an older man who never returned those feelings, leaving Tove temporarily adrift with Lorna. Lorna’s philosophy grows darker here as she muses about how easy it would be to die, and she drives Tove toward a dangerous brink, pushing the car toward a crash. Tove awakens to chaos as the car is set aflame, and Lorna’s actions culminate in her own death as she ignites the clothes, sealing a devastating fate (True Disaster).

In the aftermath, Tove is shown in a stark, symbolic moment: she shaves her head in the bathroom, a visual marker of transformation and grief. She dances in the motel parking lot with the club acquaintances, while her shaved-face persona and the memory of Lorna weave together, burying the figure of Lorna in the desert. A short monologue reveals a hard-won philosophy: pain is a gateway to deeper pleasure, pain erases fear in the face of uncertainty, and this realization fuels a dangerous resolve as she sets the motel room on fire (Cool Girl). In the desert, a new connection emerges—a relationship with a man nicknamed Desert Dancer—and together they return to the motel to make love, a moment that further unsettles Tove’s sense of self (Vibes). Afterward, she sits on the motel steps, processing everything that has happened, and a voiceover clarifies her feeling that no one truly knows her.

As the credits roll, the film lingers on a final, provocative image: the complex, unsettled woman at the center of these events. In this closing vignette, the audience is left with a portrait of a person navigating pain, desire, and identity with relentless intensity, refusing easy answers and insisting on the ongoing search for meaning in a world that feels both intimate and alien.

it’s not working anymore

Throughout, the film methodically follows a trajectory of intimate encounters, self-probing choices, and violent ruptures, all filtered through a stark, unflinching gaze. The storytelling centers on how love, pain, and performance intersect in a life where public persona and private turmoil collide, asking difficult questions about dependency, autonomy, and the ways we define pleasure and fear. The result is a long, immersive character study that pushes boundaries while staying anchored in the emotional gravity of its two lead figures.