There is a very narrow boundary that divides vanity from glamour – even the term “vanity” has multiple meanings that circle the idea of otherworldly beauty, whether it be the more common description for those who are obsessed with their own allure, or to refer to that dressing table at which many people spend hours perfecting their appearance, in the hopes of maintaining their carefully-curated image for outsiders. It seems appropriate that Max Abram gave his directorial debut the title Golden Vanity, since this very simple term is essentially the foundation for the entire film, in which we meet Mabel Montgomery-Mayflower, who considers herself one of the greatest performers in her profession, a Hollywood insider ready to take the mantle as the queen of the industry, when in reality she is nothing more than an emotional wreck and psychologically volatile actress with enormous delusions of grandeur that surpass even the most extreme examples of vanity that we have seen over the years. Told over the course of a single evening, where she returns home after an incident at an awards show that saw her, in what was likely a drunken tantrum, storming the stage and stealing an award from another actor, making herself into a spectacle that becomes the talk of the town, although not in the way that she had hoped. Choosing to recount her life’s story to an invisible observer, she begins to narrate every event in her life, tracing her rise and fall and not sparing any detail about the challenges she encountered while rising to the peak of her fame throughout the years, leading her to this exact moment in which she is confronted with reality in a form more striking than anything she had encountered before. It proves to be quite an ambitious debut for Abrams, who works closely with a small crew to create this fascinating drama that leaps into the past and manages to deliver quite an intriguing series of moments in the life of this character, and she navigates various existential quandaries over the course of a single evening.

Perhaps the idea of a film based entirely around a faded actress delivering a passionate (and sometimes extremely intoxicated) monologue in which she touches on every aspect of her career, including her rise and fall, may seem obvious – in fact, we’ve seen it done before, and in projects that are certainly more notable than Golden Vanity, which almost seems too simple to be more than it appears at the start. However, the themes that are being explored are certainly universal enough not to feel like they are retreading on ideas that have already been explored in detail, especially since Abrams puts a lot of effort into creating the mythology that defines this film. Set in 1967, which is often considered one of the most important years for cinema, not only because of the quality of filmmaking that was contained into this single year, but also in how it functions as a bridge between the Golden Age and New Hollywood, a moment of transition that saw many classical era stars falling out of favour in exchange for newcomers that would go on to define the next half-century of cinema. No one involved in this film had firsthand experience of this specific time, yet they all approached the film armed with a solid knowledge of the era, which makes Golden Vanity an unexpectedly detailed period drama, particularly in how it seems to have a good working knowledge of Hollywood at this specific moment in the past. A lot of this has to do with the central performance, but as both a writer and director (two tasks that are quite difficult for those working in what is essentially a one-woman show), Abrams does warrant some praise for how he seamlessly navigates some tricky narrative territory in bringing this story to life.

Golden Vanity does have a solid story, and it could have very easily been a sprawling satire of the entertainment industry. And there is certainly some merit to the idea of seeing a film where Mabel interacts with Hollywood high society and the general public. Yet, the decision to make a film that was set in a single location, and where she was the only character, is quite fascinating, and lends this film a sense of complexity that would have disappeared had it been more focused on expanding on the world in which this character resides. Perhaps it can be explained by the fact that this was an independent production and therefore resources were not as readily available as the filmmakers would have liked, or simply because the idea of taking a more simple approach appealed to them based on the kind of story being told remains to be seen, but it is clear that Golden Vanity does well with its limited structure. Taking the form of a one-woman show in the vein of other films focused on individuals recounting events to an unseen observer, like Secret Honour or Give ‘Em Hell, Harry! (both considered some of the finest pieces of acting of their respective decades), the film becomes a deeply unsettling exploration of this character as she engages in the process of reflecting on the past, exploring her life and career up until this point, which has proven to be perhaps the lowest moment in her professional life, and eventually becomes an investigation into her psychological state, which may seem eccentric and outrageous at a cursory glance, but is soon revealed to be extremely vulnerable and profoundly unsettling once we step away and realize there is more to this story than initially meets the eye, which is where the most interesting elements of the film begin to emerge.

The role of Mabel Montgomery-Mayflower was going to be a challenge for any actor, since not only is she a profoundly complex character that is impossible to pin down, she is also the only person we see for the entire duration of the film – except a brief announcer and a radio host in the opening sequences, there is not another actor in the film, and thus the entire story rests on the shoulders of Melora Hardin, who develops the part alongside the director, working to transform herself into this character, which she does quite an impressive level of dedication. Hardin is quite an underrated actor, as she has been working for quite a while and has not received much attention, outside of gaining a slight cult following for her work on television shows like The Office and Transparent, in which she is objectively very good, but still quite one-dimensional, as she was rarely given the moment to shine on her own merits. Golden Vanity is the perfect opportunity for her to showcase her talents, and unsurprisingly she leaps at the chance to do more than she could before – and while it would be wildly inappropriate to suggest that a working character actor with a career going back to the 1990s could have a breakthrough performance so late in her career, it does feel like Golden Vanity is the closest Hardin has come to giving a truly unforgettable performance, one that is complex, engaging and oddly powerful. She has proven herself to be remarkably adept at both comedy and drama in the past, and there have been many moments where she’s done solid character work without getting much recognition. This film offers her the chance to combine all of her skills, and she truly embodies the role of this faded performer who is struggling to maintain her place in the spotlight, not realising that it was never shining on her in the first place.

It is quite clear that Golden Vanity is a debut film, and one that has been patiently awaiting its release for quite some time (sources seem to indicate that it was initially shot over five years ago), which is quite an unfortunate occurrence, since this is a genuinely good film that moves beyond its slightly more simplistic execution to become an engaging and bitingly funny satire. There is a level of self-deprecation and reflection that propels the film, which proves that it should not be taken entirely seriously – if anything, it is a darkly comical depiction of someone who has become so obsessed with her own fame that she has fallen into a state of delusion, with this entire story being her breakdown as she comes to realize she is not the centre of the universe, or even a substantial part of the industry she supposedly dominates. She is fading into obscurity, and this monologue is her last attempt at relevance – whoever Abrams based the character of Mabel Montgomery-Mayflower on is not clear, but it is certainly quite obvious that they have someone in mind (or at least crafted her to be an amalgamation of a variety of people who epitomize this concept), and it results in quite a fascinating character study that blends humour and tragedy to create a vivid depiction of someone falling apart, which is done methodically and with a combination of sophistication and perversion, which form the intrinsic foundation of a truly daring drama that looks at a common subject through a distinctly unique perspective.