Some critics argue that the greatest art is defined by its ambiguity; that a film in which viewers can interpret things in myriad ways is more valuable and important precisely because of its many facets. Perhaps that is true, but I tend to like stories more streamlined and comprehensible. Here’s an unrelated example: Point Blank is considered one of Lee Marvin’s finest films — it can be interpreted in several different ways. It’s not even in my top ten of Lee Marvin’s greatest; there are things I do not understand about it and things I do not care for in it. Give me The Dirty Dozen or Bad Day at Black Rock or The Caine Mutiny or The Professionals or even Cat Ballou any day. But that’s just my opinion. Poor Things is like Point Blank in that its premise and story developments can be interpreted as drama, satire, fantasy or combinations of those and more. Be my guest.
Yorgos Lanthimos’ film (allegory? satire? science fiction? erotica?) is essentially a retelling of Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein” tale, with sex. Dr. Godwin Baxter (Willem Dafoe, who is excellent) has a strange ward, Bella Baxter (Emma Stone) who is childlike but who matures throughout the story. She persuades her guardian to allow her to see the world, and begins to travel with gadabout Duncan Wedderburn (Mark Ruffalo) throughout Europe. They eventually part in Paris and Bella provides for herself in a traditional, if unseemly, manner. She returns to London as Dr. Godwin (God for short) is dying, and she learns the truth about herself. Then things get really strange.
Director Lanthimos makes weird movies — even weirder than Guillermo Del Toro. If you were surprised or shocked when The Shape of Water won the Best Picture Oscar a few years ago, imagine how you will feel if Poor Things gets that Golden Guy (don’t worry; Oppenheimer is a lock). Lanthimos loves his fish-eye lenses, crazily constructed buildings and ships, skies of indescribable colors and patterns, grotesque characters, opulent nonsensical sets, and lots of sex. He’s like the American version of Federico Fellini. He has somehow persuaded Emma Stone to prance around naked for this movie, especially in the second half, and even that factor cannot make me really appreciate the effort he has put into this odd project. I have to confess that I just don’t really get it.
Scenes of debauchery are leavened by philosophizing and discussions about society but the imagery is still raw and often grotesque. My best guess is that this is intended mostly as satire, that the shiny, clean veneer of society cannot hide the raw and savage impulses and acts that lie in the shadows of our consciences. Fine. Whatever. It is an entertaining movie with some really strong acting (as its Oscar nominations indicate). Critics may love this movie but I cannot see general audiences finding much to cheer. Apart from one grandly staged dance sequence and Miss Stone’s rampant nudity I was often distracted wondering what the heck this was really all about. ☆ ☆. 24 January 2024.