Image via Complex Original
Gaspar Noé is a French director with a reputation. In 2002 he made Irreversible, a movie that featured one of the most gruesome depictions of rape ever. Seven years later he made Enter the Void, a wandering, almost nauseatingly trippy movie shot entirely from the perspective of someone who's been killed while high on DMT. Noé's movies are extreme though not particularly great, movies that demand to be seen not because Noé has necessarily pulled something off, but because he dared to try to pull it off in the first place. So when news of his next movie, Love—a film full of graphic sex scenes exploring sexuality and relationships, shot entirely in 3D—hit, anticipation was obviously high.
A few weeks ago a group of several Complex staff members (and one of our buddies from Collider) actually got to see Love (which hits theaters today). We strapped on 3D glasses and settled in, unsure of what to expect beyond what the illicit movie posters had hinted at (and the whispers that yes, there would be a scene involving semen that fully utilized 3D's capabilities, if you catch my drift). In hindsight we probably all sat too close to each other. Below is a summary of that experience—what we thought about the movie and how it made us feel. Frazier Tharpe, we're sorry we dragged you along and made you grow up so fast.
The Most Masturbatory Film Ever… And I (Surprisingly) Don't Mean Literally
Wow, where to start... Well, there's nothing quite like getting jizzed on in 3D with your work squad, and, in a moment of climactic—how should I put this—panic during this highly explosive, NSFW scene, gasping and grabbing the two male coworkers sitting on either side of you (sorry Andrew, sorry Frazier). But I digress. This is not about me. This is about Gaspar Noé, and only Gaspar Noé. Love is the Argentine-French filmmaker's most masturbatory film ever, and I don't mean that just literally (though now that I think about it, I don't even think there was any actual masturbation, just a lot of mutual stroking).
Vulture recently profiled Noé, revealing, "Much of the inspiration for Love came from his believing we need more of the kinds of visuals that turned him on as a horny young man." In that story, Noé also says, "I tried to put what I consider the sweetest things in life [in the film]," adding that staying in bed and having sex on a rainy day is one of his greatest pleasures. I don't recall any rainy day sex scenes from Love but who knows, they were having sex constantly and it could have been raining at any point (oh it was raining something, alright... ew). Everything in this movie is about Noé, and for the pleasure of Noé. It's not hard to see that the film's protagonist, Murphy, is a version of Gaspar Noé himself. He's an aspiring filmmaker! He wears a Fassbinder t-shirt! 2001: A Space Odyssey changed his life! He wants to make films about "sentimental sexuality!" And in what is maybe the funniest detail of the film, the director decided to name an ex-boyfriend character "Gaspar" and Murphy's newborn child "Noé." Yep. In a way, watching Love was like watching Gaspar Noé jerk off into our face. In 3D.—Kristen Yoonsoo Kim
A Little More on That...
As Kristen pointed out, Love is extremely self-important, self-loving, masturbatory cinema. Because it's shot in 3D you know that there will eventually be 3D ejaculate aimed at the center of your 3D glasses. That's a given. Perhaps the only restraint that Noé showed in Love is that it takes him nearly 90 minutes to get to that shot. And when it cums, it's unprovocative and doesn't add much to the director's desire to show people engaged in sentimental sexuality.
Other than the inevitable money shot, Noé uses 3D very well. He isn't using 3D to emphasize the curves of bodies or giving the illusion of breasts heaving closer to your face. He uses it to add space between the two (or three) lovers and their surroundings. The outside world feels much further away in a cab ride when two young lovers are arguing. Likewise, the threat of being discovered fucking in the hallway of a club appears to be much further away than it is. And when Noé takes the POV of a ceiling fan, the results are the most ethereal and sensual, as the lovers appear to gently levitate slightly above their bed whilst in the throes of sex (not passion, because unfortunately for Noé, talking about passion isn't enough to show passion between the leads). In all of these instances, the all-encompassing force of love is present: everything else feels further away than the one you love, who is only thing on the same plane as you.
Visually, Love utilizes 3D as an extra texture, almost placing the main characters as the most three dimensional cutouts within a 3D diorama. It looks great. And in theory this should elevate the overall ethereal quality to the love story. But the love story lacks the necessary sentiment to make you feel like these are lovers who understand each other so well that everything else seems like it exists in a vacuum. You can show people saying they love each other and show them making love in 3D, but Love makes you feel nothing more than the inevitable: You know there will be a money shot and you know there will be more fucking.—Brian Formo
Building a Brand
Many directors have trademarks. Alfred Hitchcock made cameos in his movies; Stanley Kubrick, a clear influence to Gaspar Noé, used the one-point perspective; Martin Scorsese's the master of the tracking shot. With four films under his belt, it's still unsure for Noé as far as establishing a trademark goes, but I think he's on his way.
Having heard about the point-blank, 3D cum shot in Love, I watched the entire movie tense, waiting to get a virtual faceful of jizz. As Formo stated, it didn't come (sorry) until after about 90 minutes, and about a dozen graphic sex scenes. But then, just moments before the money shot, I was surprised to see something flash across the scene that I had already seen: an inside-vagina shot of a CG penis thrusting in and out.
In Enter the Void, after the main character's soul—and remember the entire movie is shown from this "soul's" POV—floats upon his sister and her lover fucking, the soul dives right into the action, eventually burrowing into his sister's womb (Gaspar, you crazy for this one!). It's disorienting at first—hard to tell what exactly is going on—but then the focus adjusts and you realize, "Yep. That's that dude's dick, and I'm a fly on the vaginal walls right now."
It's hilarious to me that Noé decided to reuse that shot from Enter the Void in Love. It actually perfectly describes who he is as a director—self-referential, prone to extreme visualization, maybe a little lazy—but that's not to say I ever expected to be seeing things from inside a vagina ever again. Whatever Noé does next, I hope he keeps this going. I hope that one day, as my dad pointed out Hitchcock's cameos to me, I can lean over to my son and say, "You know, Gaspar reuses this shot in all his movies." I also like to imagine Noé fretting over where to insert this POVagina shot in his upcoming films. "Maybe I'll quick-cut to it when my main protagonist, Not Me Naspar Goé, comes to the realization that his life is terrible," the director will say. Who knows, but at least I'll be ready for it the next time.—Andrew Gruttadaro
Is Murphy Bad at Sex?
Despite its grandiose vision, Love is pretty basic. The film centers around film bro Murphy, who seems like the type of guy that a lady would meet in Film 101 (or on Los Angeles Tinder). He's that guy who keeps telling you about his insufferable ideas about film until you give up and decide to fuck him just to get him to shut up.
So, that’s the type of perspective that we’re getting from Love.
A much more interesting figure in this movie is Murphy's lost love, Electra, an artist who doesn’t seem to do that much art, but at least has the charisma to back it up. It’s uncertain what she sees in Murphy, but like any couple in the early throes of a relationship all they do is fuck, and fuck, and fuck.
Fucking (with the bonus of seeing it in 3D) is what Noé is banking on to hold the audience's attention (not seeing an actual healthy sexual relationship, but I digress). And for a film that relies so heavily on sex, the sex, for the most part, is fine—mediocre at best (as is any with a film bro, zing!). But for all the sex in the film, it’s all coming from Murphy’s perspective—and all for his pleasure.
What particularly struck me is that no woman in Love seemed particularly enthused by sex with Murphy. Not that they weren’t entirely not into it, but you never really see a woman get off in the film. Meanwhile, we see Murphy get off often (literally—one time the results of his arousal are aimed right at us).
I understand he’s our main entryway into this story, but if his relationship and sexual connection with Electra was as intense (and clearly unshakeable) as we’re meant to perceive it—wouldn’t we, shouldn’t we see him get her off? Even once? And anytime it seems like it’s heading in that direction the camera cuts away. It is a sexual relationship entirely defined by what Murphy’s dick wants and when he wants it, with no care for Electra. A complete (but not surprising) bummer from a movie that presumably set out to explore sex in an interesting and even balanced way.
It’s not all a wash though. The scenes that are actually hot (hallway sex, hands gripping hair) coincidentally aren’t from Murphy and/or his dick’s POV. It’s from a ceiling or a long shot framed in a hallway—inanimate things whose sexual perspectives are somehow infinitely more interesting.—Kerensa Cadenas
Oliver Trask Goes to Europe
Gaspar Noé’s Love could also be titled Oliver Trask Goes to Europe. If you’re reading Complex then surely you must remember Oliver, the entitled borderline psychopath loverboy who sadistically wooed Marissa Cooper. Love’s lead, Murphy was immediately reminiscent of Oliver to me, because obviously season 1 of The O.C. is infinitely relatable. But also because I needed some kind of tether to this wildly bemusing ride of no-holds-barred sex. Three-dimensional penis is everywhere in this movie, whether a literal dick is shaking at the screen or a schlubby, French perv who’s low-key banging Murphy’s One True Love is wagging his phallic finger into the camera.
When I left the theater I literally had nothing to say while everyone else was busy freaking out and giggling at the absurdity we’d just endured. What could I say? What in the actual fuck did I just watch? An erotic romance drama about a relationship that was hardly ever romantic mostly because of the most ridiculously cartoonish Film Bro Douchebag. It’s written about elsewhere in this post but it must be repeated: Murphy’s sling game seems to be lacking because the unlucky women to share his bed rarely seem all that titillated. Not so erotic if only one person is enjoying it.
So, why did I think of The O.C. as I watched Love? Well, imagine any dumb, volatile but atypical teenage relationship from your favorite HS drama, but with X-rated scenes. I’ve seen teen dramas with more depth and merely R-rated films with more sensuality. All I got here was an extremist bro reminiscing on the girl who probably would’ve died of an OD of him, several penises, an orgy, and a baby named after Gaspar. I *think* we were supposed to laugh with Gaspar, (director, not baby) at Murphy. That self-awareness didn’t make the film any less boringly ridiculous though.—Frazier Tharpe
What 'Love' Leaves Out
It can be difficult to write about sex in movies without revealing your own idiosyncrasies and preferences. That might not be a problem, per se, but it certainly makes the writer feel vulnerable. (Hi.) If we take Gaspar Noé at his word, that he “tried to put what I consider the sweetest things in life” into Love, as he told New York magazine, then this is what he’s into. Noé digs mutual masturbation (hetero), rainy afternoon sex, FFM threesomes, traditionally attractive female bodies, semi-naked photo shoots, hallway sex (again, hetero). There are other things Noé thinks are sweet that I’m forgetting (in spite of the 3D pop shots and everything else, it’s not a particularly memorable movie). Honestly, many of those things are cool by me, and could be fodder for some pretty hot on-camera action. But what Noé leaves out is more telling. (Potential moment of insight about how what goes unsaid often times being more crucial to a relationship than what gets vocalized, but I’m not sure how vulnerable I should be here.)
Noé’s vision of sentimental sex doesn’t accommodate anything less than standard beauty, which is a mistake. The film is obsessed with visual erotics but weirdly keeps the camera at a distance. I recall few closeups of bodies and parts; this movie associates pleasure with wide-angle painterly composition. That’s a strike, because as my spirit guide and intellectual mother Maggie Nelson observes in The Argonauts, “Genitalia of all stripes are often slimy and pendulous and repulsive. That's part of their charm."
Noé’s myopic concern with the visual possibilities of fucking precludes all verbal play. Apart from one hilariously juvenile conversation about sexual fantasies, the characters don’t talk to each other when they fuck. They don’t laugh with each other, they don’t give encouragement or offer feedback, they don’t compliment—they don’t connect. The fixation on the visual also makes it pretty impossible to spot any orgasm that doesn’t announce itself with jizz. Do any of the women in this movie come? No telling.
My sentimental vision of sex is that bad sex involves spending a lot of time in your own head and good sex involves open minds and communication and a kind of transparency that goes beyond bared skin. Of course, Noé’s characters are so two-dimensional, there wouldn’t be anything inside to reveal. The ideas about men and women and sex fueling Love are caveman status: lots of rage, infantile jealousy, and unadventurous poking.
Still, there’s a shot around the midpoint of the movie where the male lead takes in his fist the female lead’s dark hair while he fucks her from behind, and the shot is cropped to cover just from the upper middle of her back to a few inches in front of her face, but it's not what you’d see from his perspective—it’s the ceiling’s perspective, and she twists her neck while his hand grips her hair. That did it for me.—Ross Scarano