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He’s torn, for a while, between having the family that has squashed his freedom and living inside the memory of amorous abandon offered by Electra. It turns out that she was the couple’s next-door neighbour, and that he got involved with her after they’d had a threesome. And what a mistake that proves to be! It’s a gambit that worked powerfully in Irreversible, but in Love, it has the effect of making the compulsive connection between Murphy and Electra look less and less charged as it goes along.Įarly on, Murphy is with another woman – the tender and demure Omi (Klara Kristin), with whom he has a baby boy. I should mention that Noé tells his story backwards. It’s a strategy that isn’t so much daring as it is corny and dated. This seems to be Noé’s way of viewing Electra entirely through the prism of her femme-fatale sexuality, as if what she had to say didn’t matter much. This newcomer of an actress has a crooked raunchy grin that gives her the look of a vamp out of an R Crumb cartoon, but her heavily accented line readings are woefully inexpressive. The film is entirely in English, and that’s the first problem with Aomi Muyock’s performance as Electra, Murphy’s anything-goes Parisian lover. Is he supposed to be a callow poseur? A mere symbol of youthful bohemia? It’s hard to tell from Glusman, who with his close-cropped hair and fake intensity comes off like a bad soap-opera version of Mark Ruffalo.
#Love gaspar noé 2015 movie#
His apartment is decorated with oversize movie posters (M, Salò, The Birth of a Nation), and he comes on like an obsessive artist, but Noé (who wrote the script) doesn’t give Murphy one line in which he actually seems engaged with having a film career. He’s a swarthy American in his mid-20s who bops around Paris, introducing himself as an aspiring film-maker. Take Murphy (Karl Glusman), the hero of Love.
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Yet as Noé’s career has progressed, he has become an ever more grandiose and self-important film-maker, one who now views even his lead characters as pawns in a larger vision. Noé is certainly an accomplished craftsman, and as he proved in the terrifyingly violent Irreversible, his fixation on the sordid underbelly of life is no sham he goes to seamy, transgressive places that other directors don’t. The hardcore scenes in Love may be shocking to some, but they have almost no spontaneity or heat. Noé is so possessed by the idea that he’s breaking boundaries that he doesn’t let the story – or the sexuality – flow. In Love, we gawk at these characters as if they were entwined nude figures in an aquarium.