Lars Von Trier 2013 Denmark/UK
Starring: Charlotte Gainsbourg, Stellan Skarsgård, Stacy Martin, Shia LaBeouf, Christian Slater, Jamie Bell, Uma Thurman, Willem Dafoe, Mia Goth, Udo Kier, Jean-Marc Barr
One of my favourite, and one of the most polarising, directors of modern times, Lars Von Trier, once proclaimed himself "the true masturbator of the silver screen". Never has that description been more apt than in his latest project, the cruel, indulgent Nymph()maniac, a tale of sex addiction equally at home with daft and dangerous attempts to get laid as it is with self-destruction and genitals rubbed to raw hamburger by excessive masturbation, all told in flashback by unreliable narrator Joe in a spoken chess match with her intellectual, apparently asexual rescuer Seligman, both to convince him she's evil and corrupt him, her stories all rising from items seen in his grotty apartment. It's a role that Von Trier has obviously gloried in writing; he himself has at times been the most unreliable of narrators, his public persona perhaps his biggest playground. To tell the truth the whole film is pretty gleeful, when it starts we're given only natural sound like rainwater and metal trash cans vibrating but suddenly that's interrupted by Rammstein's Führe Mich blasting out at excessive volume, subtle as an air raid, almost saying 'are you fucking ready?'. In another moment he recreates one of his most harrowing scenes only to pull back at the last second as if cock-teasing us with horror and in a later one he even has Joe levitate orgasmically with the Whore of Babylon and Valeria Messalina on either side of her, like the angel and devil on her shoulders. By the time the credits roll he's playing Gainsbourg's gorgeously breathy rendering of Jimi Hendrix's Hey Joe, a final giggle after destroying both his characters and us and decreeing humans as "too stupid for democracy". He even gets in a conversation about political correctness and the difference between anti-Zionism and anti-Semitism, an obvious reference to his banning from the Cannes film festival. But it's not all just extravagance, there's drama, body horror, an almost theatrical centerpiece with Gainsbourg and Skarsgård just talking to each other, discussions about the masochism of love, religion, fly fishing, Ian Fleming, Edgar Allen Poe, Doctor Faustus, Bach and a shocking amount of black comedy. Somewhat surprisingly comedy is the vein that runs through the film most, even in an attempted rape scene made ridiculous by the silly mechanics and angles of the situation. In fact, for a film about sex there isn't actually a lot of fucking on display and what there is has been very nearly drained of all eroticism. It's something that not many directors could pull off successfully but it works and, as harrowing as some of these scenes are, they're almost a joy to watch. There's a lot to enjoy here, not least the incredible cast (all of whom are pitch perfect). As Joe Gainsbourg and the debuting Stacy Martin are breathtaking - indeed it's hard to imagine that the film could have worked without them. Skarsgård meanwhile is brilliantly meticulous as the intelligent but inexperienced Seligman and Jamie Bell gives what may be his best performance in years as the politely forensic, boyish sadist K. Perhaps the biggest shock though is that Uma Thurman is on astonishing form as the spurned wife of one of Joe's myriads of lovers, bursting with anguish and good manners and dragging her three children with her, demanded permission to show them the "whoring bed", and that Christian Slater comes close to stealing the film as Joe's dying father. I'm not just saying this as a huge Von Trier fan or a huge Gainsbourg fan but you need to see this film, both volumes, both barrels, both faces. It's certainly not perfect but it's a virtuoso work that takes you further than you could have imagined before cackling in your face and licking its lips. There's nothing else like this.
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