Mal filmé, réalisation bâclée, acteurs insipides et absence de crédibilité constante font de cette oeuvre une pénible déception. Du sexe, encore du sexe, hard pourquoi pas, mais sur une histoire tangible. Heureusement qu'il reste Catherine Breillat... www.cinefiches.com
Much akin to A Serbian Film, the bile-filled reception to this film only shows that many viewers can only grasp meaning when it's explicit and non-transgressive. Yet, this film champions feminine self-respect, such as a rapist stopping the act, realizing the woman is empowered with mind over body, as much as it makes the female leads villains. Too bad when people see sexual violence in art, they get on a high horse.
Everyone was outraged by Lars Von Trier's decision to use real sex in his film, however this movie did that way before and no one flicked a eyelid. It maybe not the first to use this "Method" of film making, but for its worth, all the filth and smut that happens in this film is contextual. Its in context there for its not just mindless porn. However saying that, Porn has better lighting and acting unfortunately.
Weird that they translated the French title into 'Rape me'; as 'Baise moi' means 'fuck me', in both ways of the term. There is a kind of poetry in this desperate visual violence as the sex and killing scenes push the viewer into something deeper and perhaps more primal. The film also raises an interesting question: is sex more shocking than killing and violence in cinema? An X rated version of 'Thelma & Louise'...
Another offering from the popularly termed French New Extremity. Adhering generously to the criteria for explicit visual content, the film sadly does not deliver so well in other areas. The acting is trite, the direction clunky at times. Subversive, visceral provocation is the main draw here, and consequently delivers solely on that level.
Come on in, the water's pustulant. "Isn't it odd nothing's happening?" asks Nadine, or maybe Manu. Maybe not so odd. As an invitation to the monastic life, albeit in the occasional guise of freewheeling pro-sex nihilism, Despentes' adaptation of her own novel lacks negative capability, avenging its cartoon of patriarchal violence with a one-dimensional pseudo-Dworkinian fury, and vanishing into its own black hole.