In Julia Jackman’s 100 Nights of Hero, storytelling is a revolutionary, feminist act. Based on Isabel Greenberg’s graphic novel (in turn based on the Middle Eastern fable One Hundred and One Nights), it is a queer fairy tale with a frustratingly simple allegory. With the aid of production design by Sofia Sacomani, Jackman depends entirely too much on the candied aesthetic of this (slightly) fictionalized, medieval world. Emma Corrin’s performance as Hero is controlled, beautiful and strong, but their admirable effort notwithstanding, the film is sunk by its inability to dive deeper than the surface. Regrettably, there isn’t a ton here that hasn’t been done in stronger terms by previous films with similar palettes. In these images, one can clearly see the influence of Wes Anderson, Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette or Emerald Fennell’s Saltburn; it relies on quirk and anachronistic styling to sell its grander ideas to no great avail. Oliver Coates’ electronic score is especially frustrating in its overwhelming discordance.
100 Nights of Hero Fails to Distinguish Itself From Other Anachronistic, Queer Tales

Part of the problem here is that, despite its relatively narrow focus, it cannot fully decide whose story this is (ironic since this is, ultimately, a film about how the ability to tell one’s own story can be cause enough for liberation). The title suggests that Corrin’s character will be participating in an anthology-like retelling of stories, but contained here is really just one: how three sisters, anchored by Rosa (Charli xcx), run into trouble through the simple virtue of knowing how to read and write. Meanwhile, the bulk of the narrative is really focused around Cherry (Maika Monroe), a meek housewife whose husband, Jerome (Amir El-Masry), clearly prefers the company of men. In this universe, the world was created by a precocious child named Kiddo (Safia Oakley-Green) before being co-opted by Birdman (Richard E. Grant), who subsequently cannot stand the freedom exhibited by Kiddo’s creations and so imposes intense patriarchal law. The short of it: everyone worships Birdman, wears bird-like stuff, and women are subjected to subservience above all. Also: if Cherry doesn’t get pregnant within 100 days, she will be executed.
Given that the film is centered on a stream of White people while all actors of color are either pushed to the side or cast as background filler, it becomes hard to walk away from the film feeling like it is saying anything new, unusual, nor, indeed, revolutionary, about the dangers of the patriarchy.
Jackman’s ire is clear, directed as it is towards a world in which men are free to roam as they will while women are confined, yet also blamed for the actions of men who stray too far. And, in these circumstances, Jackman introduces Manfred (Nicholas Galitzine), Jerome’s old friend, who quickly makes a bet that he can seduce Cherry while his friend is away. The prize if he wins: control of Jerome’s estate. The latter secretly sees an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. If he gets Manfred to impregnate his wife, he can silence the rumors about town and secure himself an heir. Hero, meanwhile, busies about as Cherry’s maid, regaling her and Manfred with Rosa’s freedom and plight. The film is advertised as a sensual love triangle between these three, but the truth is none of that sexual promise is realized until well into the film. The first two acts are defined by repetitious montage where time and space becomes increasingly murky. Monroe’s Cherry is a quivering mess until she is suddenly not in the film’s final moments; Galitzine’s Manfred is charming and sexy but otherwise a dope.

Corrin is alluring, and their presence — when Jackman allows them to take over — is the film’s strong suit. So, too, is the prettily done (if entirely twee) costume and set design. But, in terms of its actual story and sociological overtones, 100 Nights of Hero reads like Shakespeare without any of the poetry. The film’s sapphic implications are the same at the start of the film as they are at the end, and nothing is coded so much as laid bare, over and over again. Most frustrating is that the film’s promise of revolution is only heard of in an off-screen uprising mentioned, pretty much, in passing. Given that the film is centered on a stream of White people while all actors of color are either pushed to the side or cast as background filler, it becomes hard to walk away from the film feeling like it is saying anything new, unusual, nor, indeed, revolutionary, about the dangers of the patriarchy. Yet, Jackman sticks the landing with remarkable aplomb. There is something quite moving about an evil world that can be overturned by the power of a good story. Even if that idea seems antiquated and naive in 2025, it’s moving nonetheless. If our current world has a harder time finding the right footing, at least our imaginations can be the escapes we desperately need.

Release Date

December 5, 2025

Runtime

90 minutes

Director

Julia Jackman

Writers

Julia Jackman, Isabel Greenberg

Producers

Nicholas Galitzine, Grant S. Johnson