Chris Knipp
03-30-2014, 11:05 PM
Lars von Trier: Nymphomaniac: Vol. I (2013)
http://www.chrisknipp.com/newpictures/nympho.jpg
VON TRIER CHANNELING THE PAINTER BALTHUS (STACY MARTIN)
Panting for more?
Nymphomaniac, as usual with von Trier, is meant to shock. It may attract more people to be shocked than usual, since it's filled with sex scenes from start to finish. But ultimately, though watchable, and different, it's neither as enthralling nor as shocking as his best and worst work. It's a pity cinema-goers have to see the movie in two installments, Vol. I and Vol. II, released a month apart. This is another blow to brick-and-mortar moviegoing, since it will make more sense to watch both parts later at home as one long four-hour experience. It's a story, after all -- isn't it? -- the story of a girl who can't say no, or can't stop looking for more. She seems more interested in her "problem" than in the sex, though whether we get insight into either is another question. It's the other stuff, incidental scenes, offhand remarks, odd facts, the storytelling itself, that stays in your mind, more than the sex. It is interesting how this thing is done: von Trier has skills as a filmmaker, a suavity in the cool and intellectual treatment of his material, that cannot be denied.
At first it's hard to see that he has a theme. Other than the obvious one, and the quirky commentary, this is neither a How To nor a Don't Do, and one doesn't know for sure what it's saying. In a very modern way, this is a self-reflexive work. It's most of all a story about storytelling* -- and about the relationship between the teller and the listener, a relationship that, when the talk is of sex, is an intimate and risky one.
As Nymphomaniac: Vol. I begins, a middle-aged bachelor, Seligman (longtime von Trier collaborator Stellan Skarsgård), finds a woman called Joe battered on the street near where he lives, and she winds up recounting the story of her life to him -- or, if you like, her sexual history. There's not much difference between the two, as she sees it. And she's not far wrong: sex has been her life. (She's played by 42-year-old Charlotte Gainsbourg when older, 23-year-old Stacy Martin, fresh-plucked from acting school, when young.) Joe repeatedly tells Seligman she's a "bad person." She thinks this because she has spent all her time exploiting men for her own sexual gratification. She describes herself as obsessed with sex from the age of five and recounts her earliest sexual experiences, which we of course see, while Seligman regularly interrupts them, bringing us back to the decayed walls of his flat and the cozy big cups of tea, with his offbeat comments.
This frame-tale and the "volumes" and "chapters" the four-hour film is divided into suggest a classic porn novel like Story of O. But the sex scenes are quick and attenuated, and the movie is significantly ornamented by Seligman with peculiar details like references to fly-fishing and Walton's Compleat Angler, Fibonacci numbers, polyphonic harmonies sung by a choir, and Bach's use of cantus firmus. Seligman's interjections, particularly his enthusiastic ones early on comparing competitive sex-trawling on a train with fly-fishing along a river, are meant to mediate the sex content, injecting humor, detachment, and an intellectual note. And also a note of forgiveness, since while Joe keeps condemning herself, Seligman keeps waving away her claims and saying she's just been living her life. Is he being profound, or ludicrously out of touch? Anyway, the calm and quiet rapport of Seligman and Joe is possibly the best either gets with another human being. All this, plus the fact that the sex scenes don't last long and aren't a turn-on, make Nymphomaniac, though it may be a look at sex addiction, more of a disquisition on life than a porn movie, and more a playful exploration of narrative technique than either.
But it's doubly hard to conclude anything about it, since when you've seen Volume I, you still have two hours to go in Volume II. Joe's father (Christian Slater) has died in several turbulent scenes. Young Joe has been cursed by Uma Thurman, lost her ability to have an orgasm and gone back to the man who deflowered her, Jerôme (Shia LaBeouf, with slicked-down hair and a "contemporary London accent" Brits aren't buying). Things are up in the air, and the older Joe, in the glum, bruised person of Charlotte Gainsbourg, is still propped up in bed sipping tea at Seligman's place.
Yes, there are many sex scenes, and believers in modesty may think them an outrage, but they are brief in duration, and no way is this a porn flick. Von Trier may be slyly both pushing the limits of the permissible and testing our ability to see the distinction. There's been cutting. In the US version of Vol. I we get many nude peeks at Joe as a young woman and in some her private parts are visible. With her male sex partners we're not so lucky. Instead, we get a montage of a dozen or so penises, flaccid, but some ample in proportion. Perhaps we can match them up with the partners, like a Penguin children's book; that parade is another slightly comic note. But we may remember Seligman's oddball comments more than the uninteresting sex, which consists largely of a nude Joe bouncing up and down on some naked man, or being entered from behind standing at a wall, or suchlike, or bending over to perform fellatio. There are no prolonged, voluptuous, sexy sequences.
The camera moves very fast. There are no "money shots." There is no dwelling on the lead-up or the surroundings. In fact where we are is kept vague at all times. It's clear, too clear: Joe's early girl sex-hunting partner said love is a great sex-enhancer, but it's one that has largely eluded our protagonist. And true eroticism is lacking from her story, as it is from much pornography.
The images and scenery have been commented upon as drab; the color of the film is faded. But compared to von Trier's more austere films, this one is handsome. In fact it's hard to say about the film itself: is it a bummer? But that's just Joe's point of view. For Seligman the story is sprinkled with little fun or silly observations, like that people who trim the nails on their left hand first are more optimistic, and that scoring sex on a train is like catching fish in a stream, and how many strokes Julien used to deflower Joe recalls the Fibonacci numbers. Sometimes I felt back in the world of challenges and tongue-in-cheek jokes of The Five Obstructions (http://www.cinescene.com/reviews/rulesofthegame.htm), von Trier's joint film made with his friend and mentor, Jørgen Leth, which I found to be a key to Trier's way of seeing things, as is his little-seen 2006 The Boss of It All. (http://www.filmleaf.net/showthread.php?2055-Lars-von-Trier-The-Boss-of-It-All-%282006%29)
It's the cinematic flourishes that offer amusement, rather than the use of the word "cunt" that opens Joe's story, or her adolescent chums chanting "Mea vulva, mea maxima vulva" and suchlike feminist gestures. Once again, von Trier is still taking a woman and putting her through brutal paces. The musical numbers are too obvious underlinings like some perverse American rom-com's. But the film sings, if in a low key, when we see glimpses of Isaac Walton, author of The Compleat Angler, or numbers elegantly float on the screen illustrating the link between counting lovers or love-jabs and mathematical principles. A nice flourish is when polyphony is mentioned and Joe describes (in Gainsbourg's calm, precise English voice) how she interwove three lovers on a daily basis so their qualities were complimentary, and we see triple split-screens with the men both symbolized and in person, a cat, a leopard, walking lionlike nude across a graph wall like in Edweard Muybridge, with musical accompaniment. It was worth the time on the computer working it all out.
Nymphomaniac: Vol. I, 120 mins., in English, was released in some countries at Christmas 2013 or January 2014, in France 14 January with mixed reviews (Allociné press rating (http://www.allocine.fr/film/fichefilm-196465/critiques/presse/#pressreview40008347) 3.2) in Europe later, came out in the US 21 March 2014.
________________________
*French critic Nicolas Marcadé wrote in Les Fiches de Cinéma, "Lars von Trier aborde la pornographie par la forme du roman picaresque et livre un film brouillon, énergique et déconcertant, qui s'interroge moins sur le sexe que sur la manière de raconter des histoires" ("Lars von Trier takes on pornography via the form of the picaresque novel and delivers a rough, energetic and disconcerting film that asks questions less about sex than about ways of telling stories.")
http://www.chrisknipp.com/newpictures/nympho.jpg
VON TRIER CHANNELING THE PAINTER BALTHUS (STACY MARTIN)
Panting for more?
Nymphomaniac, as usual with von Trier, is meant to shock. It may attract more people to be shocked than usual, since it's filled with sex scenes from start to finish. But ultimately, though watchable, and different, it's neither as enthralling nor as shocking as his best and worst work. It's a pity cinema-goers have to see the movie in two installments, Vol. I and Vol. II, released a month apart. This is another blow to brick-and-mortar moviegoing, since it will make more sense to watch both parts later at home as one long four-hour experience. It's a story, after all -- isn't it? -- the story of a girl who can't say no, or can't stop looking for more. She seems more interested in her "problem" than in the sex, though whether we get insight into either is another question. It's the other stuff, incidental scenes, offhand remarks, odd facts, the storytelling itself, that stays in your mind, more than the sex. It is interesting how this thing is done: von Trier has skills as a filmmaker, a suavity in the cool and intellectual treatment of his material, that cannot be denied.
At first it's hard to see that he has a theme. Other than the obvious one, and the quirky commentary, this is neither a How To nor a Don't Do, and one doesn't know for sure what it's saying. In a very modern way, this is a self-reflexive work. It's most of all a story about storytelling* -- and about the relationship between the teller and the listener, a relationship that, when the talk is of sex, is an intimate and risky one.
As Nymphomaniac: Vol. I begins, a middle-aged bachelor, Seligman (longtime von Trier collaborator Stellan Skarsgård), finds a woman called Joe battered on the street near where he lives, and she winds up recounting the story of her life to him -- or, if you like, her sexual history. There's not much difference between the two, as she sees it. And she's not far wrong: sex has been her life. (She's played by 42-year-old Charlotte Gainsbourg when older, 23-year-old Stacy Martin, fresh-plucked from acting school, when young.) Joe repeatedly tells Seligman she's a "bad person." She thinks this because she has spent all her time exploiting men for her own sexual gratification. She describes herself as obsessed with sex from the age of five and recounts her earliest sexual experiences, which we of course see, while Seligman regularly interrupts them, bringing us back to the decayed walls of his flat and the cozy big cups of tea, with his offbeat comments.
This frame-tale and the "volumes" and "chapters" the four-hour film is divided into suggest a classic porn novel like Story of O. But the sex scenes are quick and attenuated, and the movie is significantly ornamented by Seligman with peculiar details like references to fly-fishing and Walton's Compleat Angler, Fibonacci numbers, polyphonic harmonies sung by a choir, and Bach's use of cantus firmus. Seligman's interjections, particularly his enthusiastic ones early on comparing competitive sex-trawling on a train with fly-fishing along a river, are meant to mediate the sex content, injecting humor, detachment, and an intellectual note. And also a note of forgiveness, since while Joe keeps condemning herself, Seligman keeps waving away her claims and saying she's just been living her life. Is he being profound, or ludicrously out of touch? Anyway, the calm and quiet rapport of Seligman and Joe is possibly the best either gets with another human being. All this, plus the fact that the sex scenes don't last long and aren't a turn-on, make Nymphomaniac, though it may be a look at sex addiction, more of a disquisition on life than a porn movie, and more a playful exploration of narrative technique than either.
But it's doubly hard to conclude anything about it, since when you've seen Volume I, you still have two hours to go in Volume II. Joe's father (Christian Slater) has died in several turbulent scenes. Young Joe has been cursed by Uma Thurman, lost her ability to have an orgasm and gone back to the man who deflowered her, Jerôme (Shia LaBeouf, with slicked-down hair and a "contemporary London accent" Brits aren't buying). Things are up in the air, and the older Joe, in the glum, bruised person of Charlotte Gainsbourg, is still propped up in bed sipping tea at Seligman's place.
Yes, there are many sex scenes, and believers in modesty may think them an outrage, but they are brief in duration, and no way is this a porn flick. Von Trier may be slyly both pushing the limits of the permissible and testing our ability to see the distinction. There's been cutting. In the US version of Vol. I we get many nude peeks at Joe as a young woman and in some her private parts are visible. With her male sex partners we're not so lucky. Instead, we get a montage of a dozen or so penises, flaccid, but some ample in proportion. Perhaps we can match them up with the partners, like a Penguin children's book; that parade is another slightly comic note. But we may remember Seligman's oddball comments more than the uninteresting sex, which consists largely of a nude Joe bouncing up and down on some naked man, or being entered from behind standing at a wall, or suchlike, or bending over to perform fellatio. There are no prolonged, voluptuous, sexy sequences.
The camera moves very fast. There are no "money shots." There is no dwelling on the lead-up or the surroundings. In fact where we are is kept vague at all times. It's clear, too clear: Joe's early girl sex-hunting partner said love is a great sex-enhancer, but it's one that has largely eluded our protagonist. And true eroticism is lacking from her story, as it is from much pornography.
The images and scenery have been commented upon as drab; the color of the film is faded. But compared to von Trier's more austere films, this one is handsome. In fact it's hard to say about the film itself: is it a bummer? But that's just Joe's point of view. For Seligman the story is sprinkled with little fun or silly observations, like that people who trim the nails on their left hand first are more optimistic, and that scoring sex on a train is like catching fish in a stream, and how many strokes Julien used to deflower Joe recalls the Fibonacci numbers. Sometimes I felt back in the world of challenges and tongue-in-cheek jokes of The Five Obstructions (http://www.cinescene.com/reviews/rulesofthegame.htm), von Trier's joint film made with his friend and mentor, Jørgen Leth, which I found to be a key to Trier's way of seeing things, as is his little-seen 2006 The Boss of It All. (http://www.filmleaf.net/showthread.php?2055-Lars-von-Trier-The-Boss-of-It-All-%282006%29)
It's the cinematic flourishes that offer amusement, rather than the use of the word "cunt" that opens Joe's story, or her adolescent chums chanting "Mea vulva, mea maxima vulva" and suchlike feminist gestures. Once again, von Trier is still taking a woman and putting her through brutal paces. The musical numbers are too obvious underlinings like some perverse American rom-com's. But the film sings, if in a low key, when we see glimpses of Isaac Walton, author of The Compleat Angler, or numbers elegantly float on the screen illustrating the link between counting lovers or love-jabs and mathematical principles. A nice flourish is when polyphony is mentioned and Joe describes (in Gainsbourg's calm, precise English voice) how she interwove three lovers on a daily basis so their qualities were complimentary, and we see triple split-screens with the men both symbolized and in person, a cat, a leopard, walking lionlike nude across a graph wall like in Edweard Muybridge, with musical accompaniment. It was worth the time on the computer working it all out.
Nymphomaniac: Vol. I, 120 mins., in English, was released in some countries at Christmas 2013 or January 2014, in France 14 January with mixed reviews (Allociné press rating (http://www.allocine.fr/film/fichefilm-196465/critiques/presse/#pressreview40008347) 3.2) in Europe later, came out in the US 21 March 2014.
________________________
*French critic Nicolas Marcadé wrote in Les Fiches de Cinéma, "Lars von Trier aborde la pornographie par la forme du roman picaresque et livre un film brouillon, énergique et déconcertant, qui s'interroge moins sur le sexe que sur la manière de raconter des histoires" ("Lars von Trier takes on pornography via the form of the picaresque novel and delivers a rough, energetic and disconcerting film that asks questions less about sex than about ways of telling stories.")