For about as long as I’ve shown any real interest in film, I’ve always tried to advocate for enjoying films regardless of where that enjoyment comes from. I have sat through way too many bad films that I went into knowing that they’d be bad, of my own free will, to turn my nose up at what anyone else chooses to do for fun in their off-time. And while I can’t say I have all that much first-hand experience with S&M and other such play routines, quite a bit of my understanding of engaging with media, and indeed my championing of Edgelord Optimism (finding positivity in disturbing and weird shit), shares a lot of DNA with BDSM philosophy. Pain can lead to its own form of pleasure, even if it’s the hyperbolic pain of a bad movie.
Just to be clear, I’m not bringing this up because this film is in any way painful to sit through. I only want to try and underpin what is likely to be a very celebratory write-up about this particular film, a psycho-sexual thriller all about power dynamics within a domme-submissive relationship, with the acknowledgement that I am once again intuiting that this is in any way accurate to such things in real life. But man, there is a lot of work being into making this as convincing and engaging as possible.
It’s basically a two-man play mostly taking place in the same hotel suite, between professional dominatrix Rebecca (Margaret Qualley) and soon-to-be CEO Hal (Christopher Abbott). It starts out with one of their standard play sessions, complete with script, but what follows is basically a full hour and a half of switching between them in terms of who is setting the rules of the game. Ludovica Isidori’s camerawork can sometimes feel like it’s being flashy just for the sake of being flashy, like with the introductory pendulum shot (not really sure what else to call it), but between the fluid camera movement, the gorgeous set and production design, and Ariel Marx’s vintage strings all over the soundtrack (reminded me a fair bit aesthetically of Disasterpeace’s score for Under The Silver Lake), it makes full use of the cinematic language to tell the story.
Qualley and Abbott add plentifully to that effect as well. With each polarity flip within their dynamic, which can send the tone of the film on an absolute rollercoaster, they both roll with every single punch they’re given. Qualley’s icy confidence certainly sells her as the dominant force in this pairing (and an incredibly sexy dominant force, I’ll admit)… but when her shell cracks and we get to see more of what’s behind that aura of control over her surroundings (along with whoever happens to be standing in them), she sells it while still dealing with the incredibly odd situations the script puts her in. This includes a dance sequence that I have yet to fathom the reason for, quite frankly.
As for Abbott, his place as the sub penning the script of their interactions lets some of the underlying capitalism of their arrangement bleed through to show control and dominance in more than just kink. But when things take more of a turn for the intense and… well, opening of Gerald’s Game, he can be genuinely scary to watch as he tries to assert more control over the chaos in that room. To say nothing of just how immaculately they work together, creating this ever-shifting ballet full of dips and twists.
The truly odd thing about all this is that, even with how heavily it leans into the psycho-thriller side of things with its story of a sub deciding to end his arrangement with a domme and the… resulting actions, reactions, and over-reactions, this is quite classically romantic at its heart. Between its Old Hollywood-homaging soundtrack, the kaleidoscopic wash of colour that signals the interjection between each act of the story, and its core romantic ideal of finding someone you can be your true self with, there’s quite a bit of Punch Drunk Love in this. There’s also bits of Secretary in how, again even with its tenser moments in mind, its tone regarding BDSM is one of normalisation and how, with the right partner, it can be an ingredient in a perfectly functional lifestyle. Same goes for its self-aware sense of humour, which given just how wacko things get after a while certainly helps keep this rollercoaster on the rails.
Then there’s how it depicts an understanding of these kinds of games, these kinds of play sessions, and what they can say about the participants. The idea of fantasy plays into parts of the presentation here, from the tonal treatment of the central romantic tension, to a sex scene that… well, let’s just say I wouldn’t be surprised if this exact same dialogue had already been used to justify Cory Chase getting stuck under yet another couch. It can get silly at times but… I dunno, even that seems intentional. Part of being your true self with another person means the freedom to be silly if that’s one of your natural settings.
To that end, the way that the relationship between Hal and Rebecca gets fleshed out not only reveals some quite juicy characterisation for them both, but says some interesting things about the philosophy of BDSM. Like the paradox of how a submissive being able to get into this situation in the first place requires an act of dominance over one’s own fears and anxieties to even come to terms with this being what they want and to have the balls to openly say “I want this”. Or there’s how this kind of arrangement relies on a level of trust and safety between partners that goes beyond just about any other potential coupling between two people, which makes even the slightest change feel like everything is falling apart. No wonder everything here is so turbulent.
But ultimately, the central idea I got out of this (and once again, I’m bringing Edgelord Optimism into play here) is the notion that, if this arrangement, this Sanctuary for both parties, is where they are at their happiest and are the most ideal version of themselves… then why does that need to only exist here? So what if exterior forces, and indeed our own psychological baggage, keep nagging at us that surely this isn’t the position we should be in in-life? Why should our own happiness come second to what others deem we’re ‘supposed’ to be doing with our own damn lives? I mean, if someone does get their desired emotional response from sounding with a Q-tip, or being ordered to clean the bathroom floor, or bringing some knife play into the bedroom, then why shouldn’t they be allowed to do so with impunity? So long as it’s what the people involved want, who cares what anyone else thinks?
For as buck-wild and melodramatic as the plot, the dialogue, and indeed the acting can get in this, there’s something weirdly sweet and… I’m kind of tempted to say “wholesome” about the romance at this film’s core. It’s dressed up in subversive kink, but the foundational tenet of having the freedom and courage to find your happiness links up with quite a few other films I really fucking like, like Spike Jonze’s Her, the aforementioned Secretary, and even Kuso, a film also about owning up to what you want, no matter how ‘weird’ others think it may be. While some aspects of that pursuit of happiness rub up against the capitalistic underpinnings in a way that makes me tilt my head (the narrative revolving around a multi-millionaire betrays the monetary privilege behind that pure ideal of happiness; it’s so much easier to do whatever the hell you want when you have more money than you know what to do with), even that isn’t enough to make me love this film any less.
No comments:
Post a Comment