Born in Macau, Law graduated from the University of Hong Kong with a degree in English Literature, before moving to London to study directing and writing at the National Film and Television School. Her graduation film, THEY SAY THE MOON IS FULLER HERE, won the Silver Plaque award at the 1985 Chicago Film Festival. After returning to Hong Kong to work on a number of films, she moved to reside in Melbourne with her husband, Eddie Fong in 1995.

Variety (Deborah Young): "Utterly postmodern in its story and style, THE GODDESS OF 1967 is a sophisticated picture…"

Hollywood Reporter (Richard James Havis): "A bold narrative experiment supported by some striking and surreal photography, "The Goddess of 1967" sees Hong Kong's Clara Law allowing her imagination to have free reign in the Australian outback."

Since director Clara Law is obviously more concerned with the images and individual scenes than crafting a coherent whole, a plot summary is almost redundant. For what it's worth, it concerns a couple of pilgrims on the road less travelled: Deidre (Rose Byrne), a blind and much-abused female, and J.G. (Rikyia Kurokawa), a sensitive Japanese man whose interests include beautiful cars and grotesque reptiles. They saddle up and head into the Australian interior, and since this is an independent film we know that, while they're ostensibly looking for the owner of the finely-tuned automobile they've commandeered (the "Goddess" of the title), they're ultimately searching for something far less tangible.

In any good road movie, the journey's the thing: if it's not a voyage of self-discovery, we might as well pack up and go home. Deidre has a rather depressing story to tell, as it turns out, encompassing violence, rape, incest, suicide and assorted other atrocities (and this is without even considering the fact that she's never seen the light of day). Her shadowy past is revealed via several harrowing flashbacks, which even go so far as to depict her mother's dysfunctional childhood. J.G., on the other hand, doesn't appear to own a past worth mentioning, since he's only allocated a single flashback (the majority of which he spends slurping noodles), so his main function is to lend a rather bewildered ear to Deidre's increasingly bizarre requests.

The film's major stumbling-block is that, in true independent-filmmaker style, Law chooses to depict the characters as remote, clinical souls: while we are suitably shocked by Deidre's trials, it's difficult to become invested in her ultimate fate. Years of abuse have eroded whatever humanitarian instincts she may have once possessed, to the extent that she appears, at times, to be little more than a hollow shell. This may be realistic, but it's anathema to the creation of an involving work of fiction (I suspect Law may have read too many J.G. Ballard novels for her own good).

This should not be taken as a criticism of Byrne's performance, however: she's on the record as stating that she was displeased with her efforts, which suggests that she is indeed her own harshest critic. I can't vouch for the accuracy with which she captures the mannerisms of those who spend their days in darkness, but her intriguing (and occasionally touching) facial expressions possess the appearance of truth, and her vocal delivery is invested with an unnerving detachment that never gives us cause to doubt Deidre's status as a wanderer in an emotional wasteland.

Kurokawa is largely inscrutable, appearing as if his face might shatter under the strain of a smile, though he is occasionally afforded the opportunity to evoke some measure of emotion from the viewer (his sense of wonder on first viewing the Goddess is especially memorable). Unfortunately, his character's status as a cipher ensures that, by the journey's end, we are left with the impression that we've spent two long hours in the company of a stranger.

It's a testament to the perverse scripting (by Law and Eddie Ling-Ching Fong) that the bit players possess considerably more life than the protagonists. Deidre's grandfather is memorably portrayed by Nicholas Hope, whose astonishing performance in Bad Boy Bubby attests to the fact that he's an asset to any film, and Elise McCredie's efforts in the service of Marie, Deidre's mother, are as heart-rending as they are unsettling. Special mention must also go to the child actors, who are never less than convincing in the difficult roles of the young Deidre and Marie (I would hate to have to enlighten them as to the meaning of their less palatable lines).

While the film won't insinuate itself into your heart, it is by no means a failure. The cinematography is exquisite: it's largely shot outdoors, and every frame is infused with the ethereal beauty of the Australian countryside, from fields of green and mud-drenched backwaters to starlit bushland and the hard-baked earth of the outback. It's a series of breathtaking postcards, with the characters' concerns dwarfed by the majesty of land they're travelling through.

The film's other strength is that while the narrative may amount to little by the time the closing credits roll (the ending follows logically from the events which precede it, but it's more of a whimper than a bang, with little sense of the characters having experienced personal growth as a result of their experiences), it's packed with individually memorable scenes. Watching J.G. teach Deirdre to dance may not sound like a particularly involving exercise, but the grim environment and Deidre's unintentional impersonation of a marionette make it strangely compelling. Other unexpected treasures await the weary traveller, including a resonant reprise of the dance sequence featuring Deidre's grandfather and mother, an opening montage charting J.G.'s daily life, and the eventual fate of the moderately-unhinged Marie. At these junctures the film's disparate elements mesh like a well-oiled set of gears, and you may be surprised to find yourself revisiting key scenes for days afterwards.

All of which leads me to conclude that, if Law can rein in her excesses (a two-hour running time and a couple of scenes that extend well past their use-by date spring to mind) and devote a little more energy to not just drawing the viewer into her creation, but making sure they stay there, she may just find herself with the makings of a masterpiece. The Goddess of 1967 is not that film, for it's akin to a sketch that captures the underlying appeal of something truly beautiful, but its aspirations are not entirely unrealised - there are moments when, as the title suggests, it borders on the divine.
review by Andrew Howe (May 9, 2001)

With its system of front traction, its hydropneumatic suspension and its characteristic silhouette, the Citroën DS was intended to turn the heads, maybe little peolpe could have foreseen the influence which it would exert on the imagination of the motorists and the historians.
Drawn by Flaminio Bertoni, it creates a sensation! After presentation on the Autosalon of Paris (1955) 12000 cars were ordered the first day and 80000 before the weekend. Very quickly it became the preferred car of the motorists in the whole world, it represented a provocant futurism, a homogeneous alloy of engineering and aesthetic principles. Its aerodynamic and carved body creates a wind coefficient of only  0,38. It became a classic car, which was exposed on the Trienniale in Milan and the Museum of Modern Art in New York.
Gradually, a species of worship is built around the DS, not without the assistance of the heroic role which it plays at the time of the missed assault on Charles Of Gaulle, thanks to its original system of suspension which made it possible at that time to escape the drama and thus to save the life of its famous passenger. In cultural terms, the DS reaches a species of apotheosis when the French philosopher Roland Barthes greets it in his Mythologies book like "one time the supreme creation" and compares it with a Gothic cathedral from an artistic point of view. "It is obvious that the Citroen news fell from the sky". Kingdom of the gods, perhaps. 

Ocean Films