Wilson, Elizabeth. "Audrey Hepburn: fashion, film, and the 50s." in Women and Film: a Sight and Sound Reader, Eds. Pam Cook and Philip Dodd. Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1993.

Elizabeth Wilson's piece is mainly a reflection on the admiration and fascination that the author felt for Audrey Hepburn as she was coming of age in the 1950s and 1960s. Wilson expands on this by asking why she felt this for Hepburn, rather than the Marilyn Monroes or Elizabeth Taylors of Hollywood. She traces this back to Hepburn's fashion, particularly as her style reflected her characters. Hepburn was the antithesis to the artificial, confined American domesticity promoted by Hollywood in that era, as evidenced by her aura of European sophistication. The apparel (and attitude) evident in her films, Wilson argues, were the forerunners of a new movement of minimalist and free youth fashion: a revolution, almost.
Transformation was a key theme in many of Hepburn's films, such as the chauffeur's-daughter into society-princess story of Sabrina. Even when these changes are visually represented by upgraded fashion, such as in Sabrina, Wilson holds that there is still an air of freedom surrounding Hepburn: her Givenchy dresses seemed modern, not matronly, and the fact that this actress had the choice of being outfitted by a true Parisian designer was a testament to the power Hepburn's style held over her audiences. Though many of her films may end with Hepburn's free-spirited characters succumbing to "adult life," Wilson contends that Hepburn showed young women of the era that they had more choices than simple domesticity, and created an entire style to prove it.

Wilson, Kristi. “Time, Space, and Vision: Nicolas Roeg’s Don’t Look Now.” Screen 40(3) (1999): 277-94.

Wilson is a feminist film critic (she lets the reader know from the start), so her analysis of Don’t Look Now comes from a completely different perspective than other available analyses. She argues that the film represents “failed masculinity” (294), embodied by John Baxter and his failure to prevent his death. John’s failure comes from his inability to interpret space. The first hard evidence of this that Wilson brings up is the book John has written, Fragile Geometry (Laura is reading it in the opening sequence). Wilson argues that the title of the book reflects John’s own failure at understand the “fragile geometry” of time and space. Roeg’s montage, with its questionable linearity, visually represents this “fragile geometry.” Roeg blurs the lines between the real and the unreal and the past, present, and future. Wilson refers to the effect of Roeg’s montage as “slippage,” because Roeg moves between real and unreal, for example, so fluidly, that the audience rarely picks up on it. She articulates the effect of this “slippage” on the audience, when she explains:

All that seems solid where the film is concerned, whether we are referring to Roeg’s visually unconventional presentation of the narrative, or his character’s sense of architectural/geographical control, proves to be illusory. (294)

She argues that the sequence, in which blood appears on John’s slide, “provides a literal example of physical slippage between background and foreground” (290). Wilson sees John as a synecdoche for all men, in his inability to recognize “slippage” (i.e. recognize omens and portents), because all of the women in the film are attuned to the “slippage” and recognize when the unreal world (e.g. the spirit world) enters the real world. I disagree with this assumption, because I don’t see all the women as recognizing the “slippage.” Heather does, because she has the gift of ‘second sight;’ the other women merely believe that she can see the “slippage”...