Charlotte Gainsbourg

Nymphomaniac: Vol. II (2013)

Nymphomaniac: Vol. II (2013)

(On Cable TV, June 2019) The second half of Lars von Trier’s Nymphomaniac is not a standalone story—it requires having seen the first film and does not stand on its own even as it concludes the story. It does start with a few revelations, though, as the nature and motivations of both the narrator and interlocutor become clearer in the first few minutes. Less digressive and surprisingly more plot-heavy than its predecessor, this Part II takes us through more eventful episodes of the narrator’s life. The sex gets quite a bit more unusual (all the way through to the clinical services of a sadist with a waiting room of women waiting for his harsh whips) while remaining just as graphic as the first film. If frontal erect nudity is your thing, then Nymphomania should satisfy. In keeping with the this-is-not-porn aesthetics, however, none of the nudity is meant to be arousing. Still, we get more of the first part’s strange mixture of the comic and the dramatic, except significantly less comic and far more dramatic as this second part eventually build a plot to go along with the philosophical musings. It ends on a cheap and depressing note, although one notes that the worst of it happens after the traditional “fade to black.”  Still, Charlotte Gainbourg and Stellan Skarsgård do equally well—Gainbourg has a bit more to do here than in the first part. Willem Defoe shows up in a small role, although Jamie Bell gets a more substantial part as the professionally sadistic K. Does Nymphomaniac amount to much? Well, I suppose that everyone will have their say. While I did see the “censored” four-hour version, I feel absolutely no desire whatsoever to see the full five-hour-plus original Director’s Cut: I can’t see what it would add to the story or the point of the film. In fact, as I write this after making it through the finishing line of Part II, I feel no desire whatsoever to re-watch ever again—I may have to follow up this viewing with a dumb comedy. And yet (and this is a becoming a familiar refrain with this director’s work), I didn’t dislike Nymphomaniac as much as I thought it would—there are some laughs, insight and cinematic success in the middle of the self-pretentious lengths and pointless digressions and cheap graphic sequences. While I’m done with Nymphomaniac, I may eventually watch another von Trier film at some point.

Nymphomaniac: Vol. I (2013)

Nymphomaniac: Vol. I (2013)

(On Cable TV, June 2019) Maybe, one day, they will make a movie in which some poor battered soul will tell a non-cinephile about his or her lifelong quest to appreciate Lars von Trier. Maybe they will call it Cinephiliac, and split it in two parts. I put off viewing Lars von Trier’s Nymphomaniac for about five years, only succumbing to the temptation when the two parts of the film played in rapid succession on cable TV. That delay was probably for the best—I have at best mildly appreciated von Trier’s work before (such as Melancholia). He comes to movies from an entirely different approach, and we’re clearly not interested in the same things. But even in his most irritating production (Probably Breaking the Waves so far) has something intriguing to it—a style, an idea, an approach not quite any other film. That streak goes unbroken with Nymphomaniac, a four-hour two-part exploration of a broken woman’s life, as told by her bruised self to a good Samaritan happening upon her after a violent attack. As she recuperates in his small apartment, she goes through the episodes of her life, through trauma and heartbreak and tragicomic incidents. The portrayal of the sexual episodes couldn’t be more graphic, but this is not meant as pornography—for one thing, there is not attempt here to arouse; and for another, the sex is a symptom of a deeper condition that the film keeps exploring. References to philosophy, religions and classical music (with graphical inserts) keep viewers on their toes, while the extreme portrayal of behaviour well outside norms (as the protagonist says, juggling two handfuls of men per day) is executed with some deftness. Charlotte Gainsbourg is quite good in a movie that rests upon her shoulders, while Stellan Skarsgård makes for a sympathetic audience surrogate. Shia Labeouf and Uma Thurman are featured in showy secondary roles. This is not a film built for mainstream audiences—the subject matter alone would send most casual audiences screaming from the theatre, while the extreme length of the result (and there’s no use pretending that Part I is a complete story) will sap the good will of most others—especially when it becomes obvious that the digressions are the point of the film. Now let’s see what Part II has in store.

The Snowman (2017)

The Snowman (2017)

(On Cable TV, August 2018) If, while watching The Snowman, you find that the plot makes no sense, then don’t worry about whether you’re having a stroke—rest easy knowing that according to the film’s director, its troubled production meant that a good chunk of the script was never shot. The film, as released, was cobbled together from incomplete material. How that happens (if that’s what happened) is a fascinating question as of yet unanswered, which is somewhat amazing considering the impressive pedigree of the cast and crew. And yet no one, not director Tomas Alfredson, not Michael Fassbender, not Charlotte Gainsbourg, not J. K. Simmons, not Toby Jones, not pretty Swedish landscapes can actually make the film any good. Not that missing narrative pieces are the film’s sole or biggest problems: Even the best production schedule still would have led to a silly and implausible film in which yet another serial killer gets off on making snowmen after killing his victims. (Actually, as a Canadian with substantial snowman-building experience, I’m somewhat dumbfounded by the whole snowman-after-killing shtick—snowman weather is very specific, and it only happens a few days per year, unpredictably linked to the weather. Any budding serial psycho building his killing schedule around near-zero-degree snowstorms would face near-impossible logistical challenges.) The Snowman gets worse the deeper you go in its details and subplots, as many of them don’t get any kind of resolution … and at some point you have to confront Val Kilmer’s terrible, overdubbed performance. Interestingly enough, the film’s botched handling of now familiar but still overdone thriller elements lay bare the ludicrousness of modern written thrillers, as they endlessly remix the whole troubled-detective, crazy-killer, sordid-society elements. It takes a ham-fisted interpretation of the formula to make us realize how stupid the whole thing has become. On the upside, The Snowman was such a derided failure (both commercial and critical) that we will be spared any further entries in the series.

La Science des rêves [The Science of Sleep] (2006)

La Science des rêves [The Science of Sleep] (2006)

(On Cable TV, June 2018) I may not like Michel Gondry’s work all that much, but now that I’m familiar with his approach, each one of his films bothers me less and less. La Science des rèves is pure Gondry in that it mixes his flights of fancy, eccentric characters and low-tech stop-motion special effects in the service of a romantic story. It’s twee and silly and ultimately tragic (maybe) and messy in its small-budget style, but I ended up liking it more than I would have expected. Gael García Bernal stars as a young artist moving from Mexico to Paris and finding that his promised job is far less interesting than expected. Meanwhile, he falls for his next-door neighbour with results complicated by his eccentric personality and his difficulty in distinguishing dreams from reality. The street-level view of Paris is interesting, but not as much as the characters in their flawed, initially off-putting qualities. Charlotte Gainsbourg is appealing as the love interest and the treatment of French/English bilingual dialogue is something I always appreciate, but the star of the show is Gondry’s imagination, endearingly portrayed through cardboard bricolage and stop-motion animation even when (say) tap water could have done just as well. Part of the key in appreciating Gondry is letting go of logic and simply letting the film go where it wants. This goes double for the oneiric The Science of Sleep. It may not outclass Mood Indigo as my favourite Gondry (a very qualified recommendation) but its whimsical quality makes for a welcome departure from the rather more realistic movie fare I’ve been binging lately.