What Being Patrick Bateman Means to Me - The Death of American Psycho on Broadway

I was very fortunate to have attended one of the last Broadway performances of Duncan Sheik’s musical American Psycho, an adaptation of Bret Easton Ellis’s seminal and controversial 1991 novel and the cult classic film version starring a young Christian Bale and Chloe Sevigny.

The musical shouldn’t have worked. In fact, some critics have said that it had no business being produced anywhere near the Great White Way. On paper – and in theory – perhaps these critics were right. While conceding that a Broadway musical about a paranoid Wall Street investment banker moonlighting as an ax-wielding serial killer at the end of the 1980s doesn’t immediately strike one as the ideal subject matter for a song-and-dance extravaganza, I have to say that American Psycho was indeed one of the sexiest, most inventive, and chillingly modern pieces musical theater I have seen in I don’t know how long.

While accolades (and eleven Tony awards) have – deservedly – been bestowed upon Hamilton, and the diversity among both the nominees and Tony winners at Sunday’s awards show should be celebrated as the milestones that they are (especially in the wake of #OscarSoWhite), I make the argument that while Hamilton is a celebration of diversity and an ingenious multicultural take on an important part of United States history, American Psycho forced its audiences to realize that despite its caustically satiric tone (and copious amounts of stage blood), and the distance of 30 years, the likes of Patrick Bateman, Paul Owen, Evelyn, Courtney, Lewis, Jean, and the other faceless/soulless denizens of the world in which these characters inhabit are not all that different or removed from who and what many of us still are today.

Many of us go to the theater – and perhaps specifically Musical Theater – to escape from the cold, harsh, violent and tragic world we find ourselves in in these opening decades of the 21^st century. We fall in love with the innocence and idealism of She Loves Me. We take comfort in the nostalgia of tradition in Fiddler on the Roof. We find inspiration in the triumph of Celie in The Color Purple. We thrill to the urban hip-hop and infectious energy and genius wordplay of Hamilton. Each of these shows provides two to three hours of welcome escapism, entertainment, emotion, and generous amounts of heart. As the curtain falls and the cast comes out onto the stage for their final bows, we jump to our feet on a wave of good feeling. We feel better about the world. We have been uplifted. We have been moved to tears – of joy and compassion and understanding – and perhaps most importantly we have been entertained.

American Psycho, on the other hand, offered no such grace. Yes, the audience was on its feet as the indomitable Benjamin Walker held his Walkman up for the last time and intoned “And this is what being Patrick Bateman means to me.” Sure, we thrilled to the ingenious staging, courtesy of the insanely talented Rupert Goold – the lighting and projections were as drop dead gorgeous as the runway model-perfect cast. We bopped our heads and moved our feet to the deadpan and dead-on 1980s Tunnel-perfect choreography by Lynne Page. We laughed (perhaps somewhat guiltily) at the shockingly crude and crudely shocking book by Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa that was never without tongue firmly planted in cheek. We delighted in the perfect 1980s-inspired score by Tony and Grammy Award-winning musician Duncan Sheik whose integration of original songs with some era-specific standards (In the Air Tonight still gives me chills) gave Broadway one of its most memorable (and slightly nostalgic) scores in years. And of course the performances by the entire cast – including the aforesaid Benjamin Walker, and Helene Yorke, Jennifer Damiano, Drew Moerlein, Jordan Dean, Alice Ripley, Morgan Weed – several of whom were making their Broadway debuts, amounted to one of the strongest ensembles this side of Hamilton.

And yet…despite all of these superlatives, American Psycho was more than just an escapist night out at the theater. Its power derived from the fact that it held a mirror to our lives and to our society today. We don’t like what it reflects but we can’t escape it. No, 2016 is not 1989, but: Donald Trump could be our next president. A lone gunman armed with assault weapons burst into a nightclub and massacred 49 innocent club goers in cold blood and injured more than fifty others (the unspeakable horror of which was somewhat eerily prescient in the Killing Spree and I Am Back sequences in American Psycho’s second act.) The corporate greed, the disparity between the rich and poor, our society’s continued obsession with status (Cards) and label consciousness, (You Are What You Wear), all of this was reflected back at us again and again in American Psycho.

And at the end of the show, what are we left with? Not a feel-good anthem that propels you out into Times Square humming the show’s eleven o’clock number. Far from it. American Psycho leaves you with one of the most downbeat closing numbers perhaps every written for musical theater: This is Not an Exit, a poetic and Emo-inspired ballad sung by Patrick Bateman that tells us “this is not a cautionary tale/No memento mori/Or a vague perhaps … I am all alone here/I am a solipsist./ I am not a person known to anyone. /All the doors are tried and tested. /I know this is not an exit now. /Should we be afraid?” This is existentialism, folks. It challenges us to leave the theater questioning our lives, our position in society, pondering life’s Big Questions.  What’s it all about, Alfie?

I think in retrospect, American Psycho will be recognized as a seminal piece of musical theater. It will always have its haters, but I think if we can get past a perhaps natural aversion to seeing a buff, designer-attired chainsaw-wielding anti-hero dancing to New Order-inspired pop while cutting a bloody swath through his fellow cast members, we will recognize the brilliance of Duncan Sheik and Rupert Goold’s vision (not to mention Bret Easton Ellis’s) as a sharp, funny, and bold vision of where we are in the middle of the second decade of the 21^st century. American Psycho wasn’t about getting us to feel uplifted or spiritually enlightened. It was about forcing us to look within ourselves and our society and recognize that, sadly, not a whole lot has changed in thirty years.

And that is what being Patrick Bateman means to me.

1/19/15: The week's Top 3

Hello everyone! Happy New Year!

After going away from the blogosphere for a while, I'm back... Let's get to it.

Three things I'm excited about this week (in no particular order):

1. Let's give it up for Madonna. http://www.madonna.comYeah, I know it's already been a month since she released the first six tracks from her upcoming album "Rebel Heart", and yeah, I've always been a bit mad for Madge...regardless, I'm still totally digging these songs. "Living for Love" -- gospel-infused dance pop at its best -- and in my opinion her best single in a decade. It reminds me a little bit of "Like a Prayer" fused with "I Will Survive" and should pair nicely with her iconic classic when she tours this summer. "Devil Pray" -- continues on the pseudo-spiritual theme begun by "Living for Love." This is confessional Madonna with a message -- drugs will only get you so far. If you want true happiness and fulfillment, you've got to find it within yourself and turn your back on the Devil. The opening acoustics give way to a dark, somewhat menacing bass thump. Initially, this was my favorite track of the new set. "Ghosttown" -- a nice mid-tempo power ballad with a post-apocalyptic theme. One of her best ballads in years. "Unapologetic Bitch" -- currently my favorite track. I didn't know what to make of this reggae-tinged kiss-off at first but it's definitely grown on me after repeated listens and it contains one of my favorite lyrics in recent memory: "You know you never really knew how much you loved me 'til you lost me/Did you?/You know you never really knew how much your selfish bullshit cost me/Well, fuck you." This pretty much sums up the theme of the song. Next up, "Illuminati", another track that improves over time. While Kanye West, who co-wrote and produced the song, commands us to "Bounce" in the background, Madonna gives us a lesson on The Illuminati, the cabal of high-powered celebrities, politicians, and personalities who supposedly run the world, at least according to Internet conspiracy theorists. This isn't really a song per se...in fact, I'm not really sure what it is. All I can really say about it is that it's weird, vaguely creepy, and would be great to dance to in a subterranean dance club at four in the morning. Oh, and the lyric "Everybody in this party's shining like illuminati" sticks with you longer than it has any right to. And finally, "Bitch, I'm Madonna" featuring Nicki Minaj: a schizophrenic 21st century party anthem that's got Miss Minaj written all over it. I can take it or leave but it is kind of fun. All in all, some of Madonna's best new material in years. It probably won't convert a new generation of listeners, but it proves for those of us who have followed her for most our lives (like me), it proves she's still a creative force to be reckoned with and bodes very well for the new album, due to hit March 9th.
2. "Boyhood." Gosh this film is good, unlike anything I think I've ever seen. Flawlessly acted and seamlessly written, directed, and edited, this is a little movie writ large over the span of twelve years. Part of its power is that because you literally watch each of these characters (and the actors playing them) age, you completely believe them. And while I knew, obviously, it was Patricia Arquette and Ethan Hawke playing the roles of the estranged parents, I totally believed them as the characters they were playing. This isn't a movie with big plot twists or exciting action sequences. Rather, it's a film comprised of life's moments, all of which we can relate to, all of which we have experienced -- whether you're a parent or not -- and some point in our lives. The film is universal in its theme and brilliant in its execution.
3. "Velvet." http://www.antena3.com/series/velvet/I recently discovered this gorgeous and shamelessly addictive Spanish dramatic series on Netflix where the first 16-episode season is now available for streaming. Set in a high fashion department store in Madrid in the 1950s, it plays like a Spanish version of "Downton Abbey" with its depictions of the comings and goings and interminglings of the 'downstairs' sales staff and the wealthy and glamorous 'upstairs' owners of the store and their customers. The production values are stunning -- and the huge cast, led by the beautiful Paula Echevarria as the faithful and hapless seamstress Ana, and the smoldering Miguel Angel Silvestre (probably the best-looking guy on TV right now...anywhere) as Alberto, heir to the "Galerias Velvet" throne, this is a feast for the eyes and the heart. While it glosses over the politics of Franco's Spain -- actually, at least in the first ten episodes I've streamed thus far, the sociopolitical conditions are non-existent -- it succeeds in sweeping you into the story and it never lets go. Only season one, which debuted in Spain in 2014,  is currently available on Netflix. Season Two is forthcoming and Season Three is currently airing in Spain. If you're looking for your next TV binge, "Velvet" is definitely binge-worthy.

Enjoy!

The Daily Five: 6.7.14

Happy June 7th 2014! Here's what's on my mind today. (In no particular order)...

1) Roland Garros Women's Final -- Maria Sharapova vs. Simona Halep
Spoiler alert if you haven't seen the game: Sharapova pulled off a win in 3 roller coaster sets (and one nail-biting 2nd set tie-breaker) to achieve her 2nd French Open championship. I'm not usually a fan of women's tennis but this match was riveting from start to finish. Both Sharapova and the Romanian Halep are forces to be reckoned with, and Halep more than gave Sharapova a run for her money, but the six-foot Czarina pulled through impressively at the end, despite a troubling penchant for double-faults. Sharapova is a brilliant tennis player without question, but I'd like her a lot more if she didn't sound like she was undergoing an exorcism with every shot. Tomorrow's Djokovic vs. Nadal Men's Final should be another classic!

2) Tom Perrotta's "The Leftovers"
From the author of Election, Little Children, and The Abstinence Teacher, the television series adaptation of Perotta's 2010 novel about the after effects of The Rapture on a New Jersey suburban community is about to debut on HBO later this month. I'm curious to compare. There's definitely an edgy, seamy, scary undercurrent to the series trailer which made me expect a bit more of the same from the book. The novel certainly has its eerie moments -- the premise alone is enough to give goose bumps: 2% of the world's population just disappears one day without warning, literally vanishing into thin air. It deals with the guilt-ridden lives of those who were left behind -- the leftovers -- as they try to deal with the sudden loss of loves ones and an all-too-uncertain future. It's a quick and engaging read -- as Perrotta's novels tend to be -- but despite a powerful premise, I was left a bit indifferent. Perrotta draws his characters with compassion but I never really felt for them the way I think he intended. Here's hoping the HBO adaptation brings it all a bit more to life.

3) "Here Lies Love" at the Public Theatre in New York
I was fortunate enough to snag a ticket last weekend to the award-winning off-Broadway pop opera by David Byrne and Fatboy Slim about the rise and fall (and rise) of Imelda Marcos. It's unlike anything you have ever seen before: an utterly original score comprised of disco, hip-hop, and techno performed by the sensational Ruthie Ann Miles as Imelda and an exuberantly talented cast in a black box setting designed to make you feel you're in a karaoke nightclub in Manila in the 1980s. This is a joyous and exuberant 95 minutes of musical and technical wizardry and I can't wait to see it again. Be warned: this show is completely immersive. There are no seats (unless you opt for the balcony) and you are expected to move along with the show -- literally, move. After a couple shots served (for $5) at the impromptu bar inside the performance space, you should be ready to party like it's 1979. Utter theatrical brilliance!

4) "Halt and Catch Fire" on AMC
Watched the first episode last night. As a child of the '80s nostalgic for that decade's pop culture, I found much to admire. It was a bit like watching a cross of "War Games", "Wall Street" and "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" if the latter were about computer geeks giving it to the Man (or in this case, IBM). Lee Pace gives a somewhat creepy -- yet strangely seductive -- performance in a role that, if given time to develop, could be AMC's successor to Don Draper. The show is dark, just a little bit edgy, and off-the-wall enough that it could be a sleeper hit -- it gets the 80s right without being cute. Who knows how long it'll last, but it's certainly better than AMC's other current new drama "Turn", an historical drama about a spy ring during the Revolutionary War that is hobbled by earnest acting and really fake-looking sets and has about as much life to it as the dioramas we all remember building in elementary school. "Halt and Catch Fire" though is definitely worth checking out.

5) "The Fault in Our Stars"
I'm going to see the three-hankie young adult tearjerker tomorrow night with my sister. We're going to drink wine and sit in the "fancy" VIP seats at our local ICON multiplex. I'll probably shed a tear or two (or more) and hate myself for liking it as much as I probably will. I'm a sucker for movies about terminal illness and teenage angst. But I'll never admit this to any of you...

Ciao.

Film Review: Lars Von Trier's "Nymphomaniac Volume Two"

Hello everyone!

Last week I posted a generally favorable review of the first 'volume' of Danish director Lars Von Trier's latest film opus "Nymphomaniac". I finally caught Volume Two last night On Demand. And while I realize that Volumes 1 & 2 comprise one film (like, for example, Quentin Tarentino's "Kill Bill" Parts One and Two"), given the episodic structure of their presentation and the fact that several days passed between my viewings of the two parts,  it is hard to review them as one cohesive whole.

While I admired Volume One's fearless audacity, Volume Two struck me as almost banal, if not downright clinical, in its determination to shock. Yes, Joe the Nymphomaniac's story takes a much darker turn in the second film. As Volume One ended, Joe confessed that she had lost the ability to feel anything sexual or otherwise. Volume Two picks up right where the previous film left off with Joe (Charlotte Gainsbourg) visiting I guess what one might call a sex therapist known merely by the initial K (played with stony reticence by Jamie Bell). K's therapy, if it can be called that, comprises of little more than pain and humiliation...and from the viewer's standpoint, it is painful to watch.

Nothing seems to work for Joe. She is driven mad by her nymphomania. It threatens everything that she might consider good in her life -- specifically, her husband Jerome (Shia Le Boeuf) and the child she has with him. She can't even enjoy sex anymore and her body seems to be breaking down. (It's pretty gross actually).

In the film's final chapter, she is employed by a shady gentleman played by Willem Dafoe who uses her to force delinquent insurance account holders to pay up using fear and sexual humiliation. Joe becomes enamored with a young girl named B whom she seems to fall in love with while training the girl as her apprentice. Suffice to say that nothing here ends well.

As before, the three 'chapters' that make up Volume Two are strung together with scenes of Joe narrating her story to Seligman (Stellan Skarsgard) after he has 'rescued' her from the alley outside his house where she had been brutally beaten. We see the beating, its perpetrator, and while I have a feeling we are supposed to be surprised or feel at least some degree of sympathy for Joe, like Joe herself I suppose, by this point in the film I was relatively numb to it.

And yes there is much discussion toward the end of what it all means and what it says about a woman's place in society and the hypocrisy that men can be these primal sexual beings but when women act on their sexuality they are branded as essentially deviant monsters and yes this is a compelling argument and a compelling subject for a film. Unfortunately, because the character of Joe is portrayed as being somewhat empty from the start, we never really feel for her. And while Volume One can be interpreted I suppose as a celebration of sex, Volume Two is quite the opposite, but it is so relentlessly grim that it fails to have much effect.

Yes, one day I may take a Saturday afternoon and watch Volumes One and Two back-to-back as a single viewing experience. I think the film deserves it. And while there is much to admire here -- particularly in Volume One -- I think Mr. Von Trier may have made a more compelling case for his thesis if we were given a central character that allowed the audience to feel at least something for her. As portrayed by Stacy Martin and Charlotte Gainsbourg, Joe inspires little emotion from us because she  displays so little emotion herself.

Book Review: "The Farm" by Tom Rob Smith

Hi everyone!

Tom Rob Smith's latest novel "The Farm" is sure to be one of the most talked about books of the summer reading season. It's unlike any other thriller I've read, hinging as it does upon the question of the reliability of the narrator. "The Farm" is lean, taut, and keeps you guessing until the last page.

The story is told from the perspective of two narrators: Daniel, a twenty-something Londoner who has spent most of his adult life hiding from his parents the fact that he is gay, which has caused an estrangement of sorts between him and them; and Tilde, Daniel's sixty-something mother who returns to London from Sweden to enlist her son in her fight to prove that she hasn't been imagining the ominous events she believes have been taking place in and the around the farm in Sweden where she and Daniel's father, Chris, have decided to spend their retirement.

Tilde, who had been born and raised in Sweden, hadn't been back to her motherland in fifty years. The reasons for her departure fifty years previous are murky and become murkier still as she relates to Daniel the horrific circumstances that prompted her most recent flight.

Without giving too much away, Tilde's narrative involves a rather sinister neighbor named Hakkan who has his eye on Tilde and Chris's farm; a beautiful and mysterious sixteen year-old black girl named Mia, Hakkan's adopted daughter; a shed with a secretive padlocked back room; a lecherous mayor; trolls; an island where suspected deviant behavior takes place; an unresolved fifty year-old mystery; xenophobia; and lots and lots of snow.

Like Daniel, to whom his mother rather desperately recounts her story, we as the reader are never quite sure what is fact and what is fiction. We want to believe Tilde's tale because she is such a sympathetic character, but as the novel progresses we're left increasingly unsure. And when Daniel resolves to corroborate or refute his mother's story, we hope the facts bear out as Tilde has described them because otherwise her situation is all the more heartbreaking.

I loved this book and have to thank my own mother for recommending it to me. You'll want to devour it in one or two sittings. What makes it so compelling is the way in which Mr. Smith draws you into the twin narratives. Both Daniel and Tilde are sympathetic. Daniel is caught between loyalty to both of his parents -- according to Tilde's account, his father Chris doesn't come off at all well -- while Tilde is so adamantly convinced of her own truth that you hope it is true and that she's not insane as almost everyone would have her believe.

My only criticisms comes toward the end. A major transition between two narrative perspectives is somewhat jarring and left me wondering whether a decision had been made to cut the text for length. But we soon get our bearings again as Daniel launches his own investigation. While I found the final scene really rather moving I did feel that the story ties up a little too neatly, though to the author's credit we are not sure what happens after the final page.

All in all, "The Farm" is a grand entertainment and will have you guessing until the end.

Check out the author's web site for a rather effective book trailer and links to his previous titles, including the award-winning Child 44, the film version of which is coming soon to a theatre near you.

http://tomrobsmith.com

"The Farm" was released earlier this year in the UK and will be published here in the U.S. by Grand Central in June.

Album Review: Kyle Minogue -- "Kiss Me Once"

Hi everyone!

I've been a fan of Kylie Minogue since her "Loco-motion" days nearly thirty years ago. I've always kind of seen her as Madonna without the edge or the pretension. Kylie has evolved into an international pop star -- one of the top female recording artists in the world -- though she has never quite been able to make a successful go of it here in the U.S. With the exception of a darker edgier avant-garde phase in the early 90s, (her collaboration with Nick Cave comes to mind) Kylie's music is upbeat and sensuous without necessarily being all that sexy. She's kind of the ultimate tease. She excels at infectious danceable pop songs that get into your head ("Can't Get You Out of My Head") and stay there. Her voice is a bit breathy, a bit thin, but with undeniable range. Like Madonna, her live shows are spectacular but you never get the sense that Kylie is trying to do more than entertain. She's not afraid to have fun. And although I've been a lifelong fan of Madonna and think she's brilliant if not visionary at times, I've always thought that Madonna tries a bit too hard -- especially in sections of her recent MDNA tour -- to convince us that she's having fun.

And so we come to Kylie's latest studio album -- her 12th I believe: "Kiss Me Once". She's working with a new team and while many critics and fans have said this latest effort is a step in a new direction/new sound for Kylie, I don't discern much of a change. It's a fluffy pop confection that passes by in no time at all. There's no message or underlying theme, no dark hidden meaning. At first I wasn't overly enamored, but after repeat listenings, individual songs start to get into your head -- just like Kylie's songs tend to do -- and leave you feeling a little euphoric and a whole lot happy. I'll even venture to say that this is probably Kylie's best and most consistent album since 2000's "Light Years".

Track One: "Into the Blue". This is a barnstorming opener, probably the strongest track on the album, and one of my favorite Kylie singles. Unfortunately, because the song is so strong everything that comes after it leaves you a tad disappointed...at least initially. As I've said, this is an album that grows on you but "Into the Blue" is the album's stand-out track.

Track Two: "Million Miles". Catchy chorus and beat, will probably be a big hit in the clubs and should be the album's second single.

Track Three: "I Was Gonna Cancel". This Pharrell-produced track takes a bit of getting used to. It's kind of bouncy, kind of funky, about what you'd expect from Pharrell. Without being overtly disco, it brings to mind a little Donna Summer, Studio 54, disco balls, and roller-skates. I don't know why but that's what I think of when I listen to this song.

Track Four: "Sexy Love". After "Into the Blue", this is one of my favorite tracks. It's Kylie at her playful flirty best and I think the chorus samples from an 80s one-hit wonder because I'm sure I've hear it somewhere before. A lot of fun and will definitely stick in your head. More roller skates.

Track Five: "Sexercise". I wouldn't necessarily call this a misstep, but it's the only song on the album that I tend to skip when I listen to the album straight through. It's the most overtly sexual track on the album and it samples from a weird rhythm track she released last summer called "Skirt". Yeah, it's sinuous and mildly dirty but I feel it tries too hard to be sexy. It also doesn't really fit with what comes before or after it. And the name "Sexercise" just sounds a bit ridiculous especially when repeated over the course of three minutes.

Track Six: "Feels So Good". I love this track. It's a happy, breezy song with a synthesized bass that brings Giorgio Moroder to mind without being retro. The title accurately describes how you'll feel listening to it.

Track Seven: "If Only". This is another stand-out track: a ballad of sorts with a wistful synthesized edge that becomes epic about halfway through. I think Kylie's voice is at its best here: it soars above the percussion that gradually take front and center. It also features my favorite lyric of the entire album: "If I set you free and you actually came back to me." I'm a sentimentalist, but this song gives me goose bumps.

Track Eight: "Les Sex". Cheeky 1980s "Parisian" pop. This song is a lot of fun with some of the most ridiculous lyrics on the album: "Take two of these and meet me in the shadows/We'll be higher than stilettos". But it's undeniably catchy. Je t'aime.

Track Nine: "Kiss Me Once". The album's title track is another upbeat affair and (like this album) just gets better and better after repeated listenings.

Track Ten: "Beautiful". A duet with Enrique Iglesias. A rather subdued track with some nice harmonies between Kylie and Enrique and subtle usage of the vocoder. It's a pretty track, romantic, and less 'produced' than the rest of the album. But I feel that it never rises to the heights a duet between these two powerhouse pop artists should. It's a nice ballad but ultimately leaves you wanting more.

Track Eleven: "Fine". Kylie leaves us on an optimistic note: "You're gonna be fine...Turn your face into the sun" she sings over a dance floor whirl. It's not quite the barnstormer of the album's opener but it's a more than suitable ending to an album that is truly in love with love and doing nothing more than having fun.

Kylie deserves a bigger audience here in the U.S. and this album should bring her new converts. "Kiss Me Once" is the most consistently enjoyable new album of 2014 thus far.

Must-haves: "Into the Blue" "Feels So Good" "If Only" "Les Sex" and "Sexy Love"

Film Review: Lars Von Trier's "Nymphomaniac, Volume One"

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.