Spotless

As notes at the start and end of this film remind us, one in ten women, around the world, struggles to obtain adequate sanitary protection on account of poverty. This is not a problem limited to poorer countries. In Scotland, those products are now made available to the poorest by the state, but in England the 10% figure holds, as in the Netherlands, where this film is set. Studies in the US suggest that the rate may be even higher there.

Following the story of just one 15-year-old girl, Emma Branderhorst’s Oscar-qualifying short puts a human face to these statistics, reminding us of the abject misery they signify. Played by Alicia Prinsen, Ruby, like most teenagers, looks to her mother for help when she’s menstruating, but the supply of tampons in the little box beside the toilet has run out, and her mother is too busy on the phone, explaining to creditors about a debt management plan, to be able to discuss the matter with her. In the circumstances it seems impossible to ask, anyway. When she gets to school, she blags a tampon of a friend. The friend helps, but from her response it’s clear that this has happened before, and Ruby doesn’t feel that she can keep asking.

Where does a girl in this situation turn for help? She tries using wadded up toilet paper, which is not very secure and quickly soaks through. Later we see her trying to wash the tampon, apparently with the intention of reusing it, which, if you know anything at all about bacteriology, will strike you through with terror, as it could be fatal. Anxiety about it all affects her concentration in class. P.E. is still more worrying. Later she will be told that everything is going to be alright, but anyone who has menstruated visibly at school or seen others do so knows that isn’t true. Bullies will remember. Boys with no grasp of the issues involved may well joke about it years into the future. Desperate, Ruby seeks help everywhere she can think of. Building inside her is the temptation to steal.

This is a film full of detail. Myrthe Mosterman’s cinematography perfectly captures the greyness of inner city life and the constant sense of oppression which Ruby feels. Her home is crowded, overstuffed with simple possessions – the kind of things which one cannot afford to abandon when one is poor because it will be impossible to replace them. Background noise gives the impression that Ruby has several siblings, and her mother is plainly struggling to keep up, with no sign of any other adult around to help. The final shot pulls back from the apartment block, letting us see the windows and doors of numerous other homes presumably inhabited by families with similar income levels. How many of their other inhabitants are facing problems like Ruby’s?

Since Giulia Gandini’s bold short My Time broke through in 2018, filmmakers have been increasingly confident in taking on stories about menstruation, exposing a tapestry of injustices around the world and, perhaps most importantly, tackling the climate of shame around a commonplace bodily function. Spotless is an important contribution to this growing body of work, and a resounding call to action.