Hello everyone!
What can I say about Danish director Lars Von Trier's latest magnum opus that hasn't already been said? Probably nothing but I'll give you all my take on it anyway.
For those of you who aren't familiar with him, Lars Von Trier is one of those European filmmakers who seems to thrive on provocation. Every one of his films -- and there are a handful -- is hailed as "an event". Two years ago in this blog, I reviewed his film "Melancholia" and was justifiably, I believe, blown away by it. "Nymphomaniac, Volume One" (soon to be followed by Volume Two later this week) doesn't have the narrative or atmospheric power of "Melancholia", but it is nonetheless strangely effective in a rather blank sort of way, if that makes any sense at all.
In brief, a middle-aged woman named Joe (played by Charlotte Gainsbourg in later life and Stacy Martin as a young woman) is seen lying in an alley one rainy/snowy London night. She has apparently been beaten, though by whom -- at least by the end of Volume One -- we don't know. Joe is 'rescued' by a man named Seligman (played by Stellan Skarsgard) who invites her into his home and allows her to recuperate there in exchange, it would seem, for her relating her life's story to him.
Joe is the nymphomaniac of the title. The film is a flashback starting with Joe as a young girl doted on by her kindly scientist father (an understated Christian Slater) and a cold unfeeling mother (Connie Nielsen). When Joe is fifteen she determines to lose her virginity to an older guy in her town -- whom we later come to know as Jerome (a rather disarming Shia La Boeuf) -- which is then followed by a revolving door of more-or-less nameless lovers interspersed with rather windy and obscure reflections on everything from fly fishing to Bach to delirium tremens, all of which we are led to believe have correlations to Joe's nymphomania. Jerome returns and Joe realizes that she loves him even though this goes against her resolve never to mix sex with love. As she puts it, "love is nothing more than lust mixed with jealousy."
Volume One concludes with Joe -- having witnessed her father's painful death from an unnamed cancer and undergone one of the most awkward and flat-out hilarious confrontations with one of her lover's wives -- Mrs. H (a fantastic and fantastically campy Uma Thurman) -- reuniting with Jerome only to realize she can't "feel anything" down there. Frankly, I'm not surprised.
I didn't feel anything either. With the exception of Ms. Thurman, there's an element of catatonia in every performance -- especially from Stacy Martin as the young Joe who seems unable to register any facial expression whatsoever even in the throes of passion. And yet...and yet I couldn't help but be consistently intrigued. The film is actually really rather funny at times because everything is so deadly in earnest. And the sex? Yeah, there's a fair bit but--at least in Volume One--it's rather run-of-the-mill, nothing that anyone can't or hasn't already seen on the Internet.
No, this isn't a film for everyone and no, I can't say whether I'd really recommend it, but I kind of liked it and am looking forward to seeing Volume Two this weekend. The sex is the least interesting aspect of this story. What intrigues -- as always intrigues with a Von Trier film -- is the spirited audacity of the filmmaking. Mr. Von Trier may not have anything profound to say, but he keeps you looking for profundity.
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