I approached Lars von Trier’s film Nymphomaniac with caution. First, the director has a reputation for being difficult. His films aren’t something you watch on the couch, munching popcorn or glancing at the screen while tidying up the apartment. Second, the film’s length—two parts, each two hours long—requires a significant time commitment, meaning a prolonged break from daily tasks, a rare luxury. Third, online reviews focused mainly on sex, close-ups of genitals, creating the impression that the film was nothing more than high-art pornography.
However, my grandmother once taught me that for anything interesting, you should form your own opinion. So I downloaded both parts and spent two days watching them.
Let me be clear: underdeveloped people who still go to movies and theaters for cheap thrills and roar with laughter at any risqué word, from "ass" to profanity, or at the sight of even a glimpse of a naked body, won’t see anything beyond sex in all its poses, forms, and manifestations.
But those who are more evolved will find beneath the surface of sex a delicate, lyrical, at times dramatic, and at times comedic story of a woman who chose her own path.
The protagonist, Joe, played in her youth by debutant Stacy Martin and in her mature years by the brilliant Charlotte Gainsbourg, is a nymphomaniac. But for her, nymphomania is more a form of protest than a pathology. At least, that’s the impression I got.
So what is the protagonist protesting against by giving her body to an ever-increasing number of men? Initially, it’s likely against her family. A girl raised by a cold mother and a warm father—though the father is an alcoholic. Incidentally, the father is wonderfully played by Christian Slater. The film doesn’t explicitly state that he’s an alcoholic. However, in the chapter of the protagonist’s story titled "Delirium," where she keeps vigil at her dying father’s bedside, he dies as a result of delirium tremens—or "the DTs" in common parlance. And this condition only occurs in alcoholics after a long binge. The mother doesn’t love her child or doesn’t know how to show love adequately. The father loves, but his love is burdened by his illness. Sex as a way to attract attention, sex as a way to receive love? Quite possible.
Later, the protest takes on a broader character. Despite more than 50 years passing since the sexual revolution, in a society where sex is sold, bought, displayed, and promoted, double standards and double morality still persist for men and women. The most glaring manifestation of this double morality is the different attitudes toward a man with many partners and a woman with many partners. A man is met with envy and pride, called a "Casanova," a "stud," a "giant." A woman is called a "whore." Why do two people engaged in the same activity—possibly with each other—receive such different evaluations?
The second major double standard or even taboo for women is the taboo on sexual pleasure. While women of all ages are the objects of sexual desire and commodities sold in the sex industry, they aren’t allowed to want sex—that is, us. A woman can’t say, "I want sex with this man," not for children, marriage, love, but simply for sex. Even prostitutes, when asked by men after sex (what irony) "Why do you do this?" prefer to tell sad stories about "sick parents" and "not being able to feed their children." I’d love to see the face of a man who gets the answer, "It’s the easiest thing I can do—fuck idiots like you and get paid for it." I’m also interested in the word used in our society for a woman who has had sexual contact: "She gave." And it’s often used by women themselves. What did she give? Herself, her body. But she also received something. She received pleasure, an orgasm. If she didn’t receive pleasure, what’s the point of having sex? Any relationship is an exchange—of emotions, joy, information, anything, but it’s an exchange. If the exchange of pleasure doesn’t happen, and a woman is forbidden from finding joy in sex, she seeks ways to compensate for the lack. As a result of this taboo, I believe, women use sex as a tool for blackmail, punishment, or obtaining benefits from men.
But let’s return to the film. There were moments in the protagonist’s life when she tried to be "like everyone else." The first moment was in her youth, when Joe meets her first love and first man, Jerome (Shia LaBeouf), has a child with him, and tries to live like any other mother. And of course, it’s Jerome who pushes Joe back into her old life. He begins to feel that he doesn’t satisfy Joe and suggests she sleep with other men. Then, as often happens with men, he starts tormenting himself over his own decision, his bruised ego in the competition among males, and abandons his wife and child, simply running away.
This is when Joe’s chapter titled "Sado-Maso" begins. There’s a very dramatic moment in the film when, at night, Joe runs off to her master. The nanny either didn’t come or left without waiting, and the baby nearly falls from the balcony. Jerome, who unexpectedly returns home, barely manages to catch the child. This becomes the pretext for another scene and his permanent departure from Joe. Again, I see this as a manifestation of double standards. If Jerome is such a wonderful father, why did he run away, leaving his son with a "bad" mother? If he cares so much about the child and worries about him, why, after taking him from the "bad" mother, does he give him up for adoption?
By the way, Joe never forgot about her son. Perhaps her memory was expressed in financial support, but still, she loved him as best she could, as she was taught to love.
The second vivid moment of trying to change comes in her maturity, after losing her son and her lover. Joe joins a group of anonymous addicts. After three weeks of abstinence, she needs to step into the circle and declare victory. She honestly tries to do so, but then, as if sensing the farce of the situation, she says, "I am who I am, and it’s my right to be this way." At that moment, you want to applaud her. In a society that prays to God by day and visits brothels by night, this is the only way to defend one’s individuality.
I’d like to say a few words about the actors. They are all excellent, not just the stars but even the newcomers. Even Uma Thurman, who appears in the film for just five minutes, delivers a brilliant comedic episode titled "Mrs. H." I laughed while watching it and thought that this is how one should fight for their family. I recommend this scene to every woman who catches her husband cheating.
The film’s ending is unexpectedly dramatic at first glance but, perhaps, quite consistent with von Trier’s style. If there were a happy ending, it wouldn’t be his film, and it wouldn’t be a film that captivated me so much that I’m sitting here writing this review.
But I’ll keep the intrigue. If this film or this text has piqued your interest, watch it—you may have entirely different thoughts and emotions, but they will definitely be strong. You won’t remain indifferent.
Yelena Shpundra
