This film is embarrassing on two levels: first because it's story line is so weak, and second because it ends not with a bang but a whimper. Oh, and there is also the seemingly endless sequence of fleshy scenes that serve to glorify porn and prostitution at one and the same time (the scenes include a sickening rape carried out with a bottle).
The narrative appears to run something like this - A wealthy, materialistic magazine writer, trapped in a dull haute bourgeois lifestyle, sets out to investigate student prostitution. She is soon seduced by the charms of the girls and concludes that 'all men are bastards', including her boring husband, who uses her as a perfect dinner hostess in order to suck up to his boss.
In a climactic scene, she walks out of the dinner party, leaving her husband and her (vile) male guests high and dry. But lo! Does she go off to join the free and easy (and wealthy) student prostitutes in their care-free, hedonistic life? Er, no! In very short order she returns to the breakfast table to serve the orange juice and muesli to her still dull, bourgeois husband and kids. Fin!
To add to the (dis)pleasure, there are a number of odd sequences which seem to have no connection to the already fragile narrative thread: the writer visits and old man in hospital (is it her father?) and gives him a foot massage; she attempts to use a lavatory but finds she 'cannot continue'; she repeatedly tries to close the door of the family refrigerator but it won't close because an item on one of the door shelves has become dislodged.
This unenlightening and unpleasant movie is one to avoid, Ms. Binoche notwithstanding.
(Viewed at The Cornerhouse, Manchester, UK, 21 April 2012)
The narrative appears to run something like this - A wealthy, materialistic magazine writer, trapped in a dull haute bourgeois lifestyle, sets out to investigate student prostitution. She is soon seduced by the charms of the girls and concludes that 'all men are bastards', including her boring husband, who uses her as a perfect dinner hostess in order to suck up to his boss.
In a climactic scene, she walks out of the dinner party, leaving her husband and her (vile) male guests high and dry. But lo! Does she go off to join the free and easy (and wealthy) student prostitutes in their care-free, hedonistic life? Er, no! In very short order she returns to the breakfast table to serve the orange juice and muesli to her still dull, bourgeois husband and kids. Fin!
To add to the (dis)pleasure, there are a number of odd sequences which seem to have no connection to the already fragile narrative thread: the writer visits and old man in hospital (is it her father?) and gives him a foot massage; she attempts to use a lavatory but finds she 'cannot continue'; she repeatedly tries to close the door of the family refrigerator but it won't close because an item on one of the door shelves has become dislodged.
This unenlightening and unpleasant movie is one to avoid, Ms. Binoche notwithstanding.
(Viewed at The Cornerhouse, Manchester, UK, 21 April 2012)