Like Don’t Look Now but more perverse.
It seems everyone is reasserting the importance of eroticism in film lately in response to that most recent bout of puritan hand-wringing about sex in movies, from industry people to video essayists to me to even Criterion, which this month has curated a new series on erotic thrillers. And among the offerings is a curious little movie from 1990 called The Comfort of Strangers, directed by Paul Schrader (whose older filmography I’m still eager to explore), and written by of all people, Harold Pinter. I’m not exactly familiar with Pinter’s work, but his name often comes up in the company of those playwright legends who have transformed twentieth century theatre –like Samuel Beckett, Arthur Miller, Neil Simon, and Tom Stoppard. Seeing his name on a work like this is eye-opening indeed.
Not that a prestige writer is incapable of writing something salacious mind you –it’s more the idea of someone of Pinter’s stature being involved in film that is surprising, and a rather low-tier non-studio movie at that. The Comfort of Strangers is not strictly his idea though; it is an adaptation of a novel by Ian McEwan, and a fairly close one as I understand it, that deals in the sexual tension between two couples in Venice. British Colin (Rupert Everett) and Mary (Natasha Richardson) are on their second visit to the city in an effort to rejuvenate their stale love life, and while exploring come upon a wealthy Italian barkeep Robert (Christopher Walken) who eventually introduces them to his Canadian wife Caroline (Helen Mirren). Robert is a bit too open with his sordid history of trauma, stemming from the casual cruelty of his father and sisters growing up, a bit too inviting, and with eager political opinions that verge on a very familiar neo-fascism; while Caroline is a bit unsettlingly intrusive, very openly focused on Colin’s beauty, and seems to have some unexplained back injury. Kindly strangers, but suspicious ones too –and yet one can’t deny the effect they have on Colin and Mary’s sexual slump.
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The movie has an extremely lush and sensual look to it. The precise lighting and shadow techniques employed accentuate the texture and depth of the images, relaying a look of heat that is apparent especially on the bodies of the characters –who when in sexual repose bring to mind the erotic beauty of Hiroshima, Mon Amour. And it’s a kind of effect that keenly could only be achieved on film. The filmic nature of this movie is so abundantly obvious, its compositions just as stupendous. Schrader has an eye for such things, but his cinematographer Dante Spinotti (who shortly afterwards would shoot The Last of the Mohicans and Heat for Michael Mann) deserves every bit of credit. Of course as I discussed on another movie, the breathtaking scenery and atmosphere of Venice is always an asset in and of itself for movies that shoot there.
As noted earlier, the use of its labyrinthine architecture evokes Don’t Look Now, another movie bathed in an inexplicable suspense, although here there is certainly more to cast dismay. The fact of Caroline casually watching Colin and Mary sleep, admiring their bodies, or Robert’s sudden burst of violence when he punches Colin in the stomach over a seemingly innocuous remark. Walken and Mirren are great at playing a sexual intensity just bubbling beneath the surface in the way they look, speak, and carry themselves around Colin and Mary. It’s fine-tuned, creeping, and yet the great mystery is how the young couple, dimly aware of it and Mary certain she saw a photo of Colin in their house, find their passions reborn in this context. Though on the cusp of breaking up when they started this holiday, Mary eventually proposes marriage -in light of Colin revealing the assault to her.
The underlying psycho-sexual component to this unusual relationship that forms between the four, across just the span of a couple nights, is the movie’s most engaging enigma -although I’m not convinced Pinter understands it as much as he’s just curious about observing. The Freudian hints seem to be just that, built out of real theories of trauma and sexual repression though they may be. I wish there was a little more attention paid to Robert’s politics, more disturbing and telling than his troubled childhood, especially when paired with his apparently seductive qualities.
Naturally, manipulation and sadomasochism play a part in the ultimate reveals, the ending being both shocking and creatively unsurprising -though played and paced with real tension and a resonant sense of claustrophobia. The final moments are perhaps more effective though, as they strive for something tangibly haunting whilst instilling some sharp and still coarsely relevant institutional commentary. It’s worth noting that the music that brings it home is by Twin Peaks’ Angelo Badalamenti. The Comfort of Strangers is a great title and a pretty good film, with a lot of character and fascinating dynamics, and a searing erotic mood, even if it is maybe a bit less than the sum of its parts.
Criterion Recommendation: Dead Ringers (1988)
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With a new TV reboot starring Rachel Weisz coming out later this year, I think it’s a good time to consider Dead Ringers, David Cronenberg’s curious and mystifying psychological thriller -among his very best, for Criterion entry. Starring Jeremy Irons in one of his best performances as twin gynecologists Elliot and Beverly Mantle and loosely based on the story of the Marcus twins, the film is a compelling deep dive into themes of identity, depression, sexuality, and psychosis, as the power dynamics between the two brothers, oppositional in personality, and their relationship to an actress Claire (Geneviève Bujold), become fractured in increasingly frightful, psychologically damaging ways. The way Cronenberg and Irons construct and deconstruct the enigma of these two brothers, to the point that through parts of the film it is ambiguous who is really who, is exceptionally captivating; and the constantly suspenseful atmosphere renders their work (which comes with graphic implications and ethical malpractice) and behaviour that much more intense. It is a horror movie, though it feels so unlike one, as its horrors are really only palpable in contemplation. It’s a great companion piece to Cronenberg’s Crash in this way, and like that film deserves a spot among Criterion’s darker selections.
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