Wow. This film is not for the faint of heart. Having said that, I did enjoy it. It‘s a story that I haven‘t seen before. (I won‘t give specifications, because it might spoil it for you.) Maybe most importantly, this film made me think differently about a woman‘s period. (It made me think about it to begin with.) That‘s something no critique can deny, no matter how pretentious they think the picture is.
Catherine Breillat's adaptation of her own novel "Pornocratie". Not as good as Romance, in my opinion. But it is an hypnotic and raw essay on female sexuality and body, and what sets women and men apart, as eternal 'enemies'. If you can pass its very graphic and gross moments, it ends up being a very interesting experience, and certainly an unforgettable one. Even if at a very surreal level.
Well now! This definitely wasn't the porn-masquerading-as-art nonsense that I expected, but definitely no masterpiece. It's an interesting/hilarious cinematic experience (depending on your mood), and the intense two-hander in a single room reminded me somewhat of La Belle Noiseuse. Saying that I don't recall Michel Piccoli using a lipstick to express his art. Or indeed gardening implements.
Better than Romance, nearly made two stars. Specially with the MM bj at beginning ( by far the sexiest scene) and the body hair, which could be sexy if it wasn't an excuse for essential female self deprecation. Gay Rocco gets beaten around finishing in a legendary scene in a bar somewhere between Romance, Dikkenek and American Pie ( Une salope! Une pute! Comme les autres! [...]Faut les prendre comme des chèvres! )
After the quiet and engaging eroticism of Romance, this is so largely uneventful its just dull. Shockingly crude physical stuff towards the end, but this is no compensation for the preceding ennuie. Not so much fucked as fucked up. Minimalist dialogue and absence of music fail to mask the vacuity of the concept.
The last film to make me this weak-kneed and queasy was de Van's 'In My Skin', to an extent another film about women's bodies as the receptacle for lust and hate. Here Breillat removes the lust to focus on her suggested "hell", a claim warranted by seeing this in a cinema with plenty of walk-outs. The criticism is in-built, and I'm happy to cop to discomfort in return for the vile shit we put on the screen.