Introducing Selma Blair Movie Review

Selma Blair needs no introduction. There’s a certain delightful quirk to his personality—he’s both playful and sour, with an alluring androgynousness to his sharp, flashy features.

gives us an intimate and steadfast look at her life as she struggles through debilitating symptoms of multiple sclerosis, a diagnosis she received in 2018. We also follow her as she strives to continue nurturing her young son Arthur. and travels to Chicago for a stem cell transplant which he hopes will provide some relief.

This is a lot, especially since Blair makes herself even more vulnerable and provides a window into her pain and fear through the raw video diary she shot herself and the unvarnished moments she allowed Fleit to capture. a difficult viewing experience, and rightfully so. What is a documentary if not a mechanism to show us the truth about how other people live? The honesty shown here is very important, both for people who don’t know what multiple sclerosis is and for those who may have the disease, in which the immune system attacks the protective layer of nerves.

But every time the film looks like it’s about to take a turn for the worse, Blair changes the tone through some self-deprecating quips that instantly lighten the mood. His self-awareness, and his willingness to often laugh at himself in the most depressing of situations, eased the tension. When we first saw her, she was wearing a turban and putting on a lot of makeup to dress like Norma Desmond for an interview at her Studio City, California home. He used this talent for dramatics to disarm us. But what’s really interesting—devastating, actually—is the transformations he allows us to witness as he sits on the red chair like a cocoon and describes his condition. The sweet white terrier mix fell asleep contentedly in his lap. First, he cracks a sharp joke about the importance of walking with a stylish cane and speaks eloquently about how he hopes his illness will inspire him to become a better person in his late 40s. But as soon as the comfort dog jumps in and runs off, we can see the mask fall off. It’s like someone flipped a switch. Suddenly his speech stopped and became chaotic. He was restless and self-conscious. “Now fatigue is happening,” he struggled to articulate. This is painful for him and for us as viewers, but he wants us to see this, because this is the reality. Finally, whining: “I have nothing left,” he concludes. He was restless and self-conscious. “Now fatigue is happening,” he struggled to articulate. This is painful for him and for us as viewers, but he wants us to see this, because this is the reality. Finally, whining: “I have nothing left,” he concludes. He was restless and self-conscious. “Now fatigue is happening,” he struggled to articulate. This is painful for him and for us as viewers, but he wants us to see this, because this is the reality. Finally, whining: “I have nothing left,” he concludes.

Equally enlightening are the moments she shares with her son, for whom she puts every bit of energy in her body to throw an impromptu dance party or game of dodgeball. When she told her around the age of seven that she was terrified of what she would look like without hair—because she had to go through agonizing chemotherapy in preparation for stem cell treatment—she made the most inspired and terrifying motherhood move I’ve ever seen by giving her scissors and scissors and let it cut itself. (My son is almost 12 years old and I wouldn’t let him get close to my head with scissors.) These moments may seem superficially uplifting, but they carry a current of melancholy—as they often do throughout the film—because they so clearly reflect intent. Blair for being a completely different kind of mother than she has been.