The Duke of Burgundy

Even I, in my 63 year-old female dotage, got the bug. What a great pair. Both the characters and the actors. The story is tight; every moment is important; and there are a lot of silent moments. A couple of lesbians, one rich and older/one cute and younger, live together, love together, and sex up a storm. For the younger one, sex is every waking moment. Even moments with no physical contact. For her the act of being a sex slave makes her deliriously happy and sexy. She always has orders for her dominant queen. She dresses her, tells her how to sit, and how long. The dom is getting a little tired of the whole deal, or is she?

This film offers astonishing photography: soap bubbles look like iridescent lobes, butterflies and moths are presented like stunning neorealist paintings-the pigment scales on wings, delicate antennae, infinitesimal hairs are all rendered with clarity that will elicit gasps. There is also a series of images that morph from one of the protagonists into a cloud of fluttering butterflies of variegated hues segueing into what might be the greatest montage ever edited. Super closeups of wings flash at increasing speed, leaving the viewer overwhelmed by beauty. Complimenting the superb entomological photography are sweeping shots of lush gardens and vine covered chateau walls. We're this not enough, the interiors in soft intimate lighting would earn due praise.

And praise the film has garnered with many top critics assigning The Duke of Burgundy perfect scores. Yet with the feast of visual delights the film serves a story that is as dull as a tarnished penny. The lesbian couple repeat a kind of ritualized dominant and submissive behavior scene after scene with scant variation. The encounters are separated by repetitious scenes of entomology lectures.

The only portion of this movie that breaks the wearying dreary repetition is a visit to a woman who crafts fetish devices. This breaks the monotony, but it's difficult not to laugh during an exchange. When the submissive partner is disappointed to exasperation at learning that the equipment she desires cannot be fabricated in time for her birthday, an alternative is suggested. The character flashes with delight of the substitution: "how about human toilet?" The sensual scenes are my no measure engaging or erotic. Sure, the filmmaker is presenting the subject in a manner that forbids prurient interest. But it's difficult to think of a film in which the physical expression of affection is so boring. The relationship is static until the very end when one of the women becomes overwrought for reasons that the audience is unable to divine.

The exhilarating beauty of the photography serves to point up the colorless plot.

A rather simple "story" or rather vignette about the tensions in a relationship - the two lovers are lesbians (Evelyn and Cynthia) and are playing out a dominance and submission scenario - but basically the problems the couple faces are the same as with most relationships: Boredom by routine, a little jealousy, and Cynthia is having trouble with Evelyn's more and more demanding whims.

What makes this film stand out for me is the all-embracing vision: Acting, costumes, set design, props, music, rhythm - everything works together perfectly to form a total work of art. Usually such a clear and uncompromising concept is restricted to short films; here it's drawn out to 100 lush minutes. I felt positively reminded of Peter Greenaway! There are also some fun visual jokes or references like the mannequins in the audience but they don't take away from the focus.

Now, while that's some praise, there's also drawbacks that come with this single-mindedness: The plot is just a "plot", coming from and leading to nowhere; we never learn much about the characters; the whole thing begins to feel drawn-out. Basically you could have told the thing in 30 minutes without losing much impact. While I can wholeheartedly recommend this beautiful production, I doubt if I'll rewatch it anytime soon in its full length.

This isn't a d/s film really as some say (more routinely known as bdsm but I shorten it to essentials). To my mind, that would be about someone who sheds control and truly gives herself over to another person. What we have instead is someone controlling a fantasy around her. This doesn't preclude it from being good of course but it's worth making the distinction between fetish as piece of theater and vital baring of soul.

But this reveals what the film is actually about and only disguised with erotica. It's about obsessive self, the self that tries to control life, shown as the real barrier that stands in the way of knowing intimacy, reducing life to theater. A petulant ego, as we go on to see, that only expects to be pleased and smothers the other, and the rituals, games, fictions it weaves that keep it from being there for the genuine exchange with another person that sex and love are both ways to manifest. In this way she explores neither herself nor her partner.

And I would go a step further. The big question in both loving intimacy with another person and making a film about it, or really any film that wants to probe the deepest recesses of self, is by what degrees to know and maintain distance, the distance as ambiguity that you honor by refusing to reduce. By what degrees to anticipate and remain open to spontaneity, lead or allow yourself to be led. You can trust that everyone from Tarkovsky to Lynch has mulled over this long and hard, how much to make known even to themselves.

Here there are two reversals of control (over the viewing experience). One in who controls the exchange, and a second about the fictional nature of the exchange. Their effect however is that they leave me with a rather thin reality of petulant abuser and her exasperated enabler. What I have revealed of this world makes me feel that it's not worth staying for.

But knowing his previous work, this is a filmmaker who wants to see with an eye that delves into space to know the feel and cares primarily for what creates visual fabrics. I have him on a short list of talent with the potential to be commanding our attention in the near future.

A very remarkable flow here delves between the woman's thighs, delves through her sex to the box that contains the skeletal remains of what used to be love, and through it to a forlorn walk in the woods that culminates with another box that is the girl swallowing her with suffocating desire.

So he has good intuitions, an eye that reminds me of Europe in the 70s. I hope he grows and takes the leap from being a Juraj Herz or more intelligent Franco into transcendent dreamworlds (as opposed to symbolic). But if he rests here, part of me will be happy all the same, the part of me that favors ethereal wandering. We don't get much of it anymore.

The meretricious film "The Duke of Burgundy" sinks under its own pretentious weight - an obnoxiously bad example of music video directors (Fincher and the like) taking over contemporary cinema. I'll briefly comment on what ordinarily I would merely toss (DVD) into the waste basket, informed by the director's telltale interview comments in the "bonus" (or bogus) material.

Claiming a budget of a million pounds (pity the fools running Film 4 and BFI in England these days) he mentions originally being pitched to direct a remake of a lousy Jesus Franco porn film from the '70s, a project he quickly tired of (who wouldn't - Franco remade all his losers from this period a dozen times over himself).

Instead he pounces on the flimsy juxtaposition of a a BDSM submissive living in co- dependence with an older woman who doesn't really get the BDSM imperative and only partially derives sustenance vicariously by pleasing the other. That plus unbelievably pretentious imagery about entomology spins out a tedious exercise that once again is all tension and no release - a surefire recipe for either putting a viewer to sleep or having him (or her) make a mad rush for the exit.

I have been watching a vast cross-section of lesbian porn in recent years, from the key sources such as Girlfriends Films, Sweetheart Video, Filly Films, Abigail Productions, Girl Candy and others. To varying degrees they all deliver the goods - naturalistic sex, real orgasms (believable at any rate), beautiful female performers, modest but fairly interesting story lines, an emotional connection, full nudity and explicit XXX visuals (with no cocks in sight). There are no cocks (or males) in "Burgundy", but no nudity, not even interesting soft-core sex, and precious little emotion or faked orgasm. The entire movie is a cheat, typical of the junk that clutters Film Festival schedules around the world, aimed at a coterie of fest programmers and so-called critics who for many decades practice virtual masturbation at the screening rooms with "artistic" pretend- pornography (see: Walerian Borowczyk, name-dropped by this hack alongside Franco).

Most telling interview statement is how the self-made genius who created this movie admires the films of hacks like Franco because they have been overlooked by mainstream film historians. What he fails to mention is that for approximately 25 years now the "outlaw" or euphemistically termed "exploitation" cinema has been egregiously promoted in conjunction with the rise of video (VHS then DVD) as prime source of viewing for younger would-be film buffs and due to the vagaries and ignorance of distribution predominates over mainstream works. Ask any young film buff today about Italian films and they will know by heart the works of Dario Argento, Joe D'Amato and perhaps Deodato and Umberto Lenzi (plus of course Sergio Leone) but would they have seen a single film by Ermanno Olmi, Francesco Rosi or even Marco Bellocchio (beyond his pornographic "Devil in the Flesh"), let alone the geniuses like Fellini, Visconti, Antonioni, Rossellini, Germi, Bolognini, Risi, Monicelli, Scola, Wertmuller and dozens of others?

No, the Tarantino revolution elevating junk (ALL of which I saw 40 or 50 years ago in cinemas in parallel with the "high art" I'm namedropping here) above quality has become firmly entrenched. If "The Duke of Burgundy" is to represent the 21st Century's version of "Arthouse cinema", just contrast it with the most ubiquitous titles I used to see over and over 50 years ago at my local revival and art houses, neither of which has been shown hardly at all in the past 25 years: Bourguignon's "Sundays and Cybele" and Teshigahara's "Woman in the Dunes" (latter also dealing with entomology). Back in the day it was often decried how those two titles were "overexposed" since programmers became infatuated with them (alongside the most popular of the day, Bergman), but who knew they would be forgotten and Joe Sarno films of the '60s would replace them in the consciousness of so many film buffs two generations later.