When a filmmaker finds a muse that lights a nitro under their butt, the results are often electric. Marty Scorsese has both Leo and Bobby (take your pick), Sam Raimi constantly finds new ways to brutalizes Bruce Campbell, Kurt Russell has repeatedly inhabited John Carpenter’s scowling anti heroes and even though Quentin Tarantino and Uma Thurman aren’t on the best of terms these days, they still gave us Kill Bill’s Bride. The point is, teamwork makes the dream work and art house weirdo Yorgos Lanthimos has obviously found a kindred spirit in the form of Emma Stone in their second collaboration after the magnificently prickly The Favourite – Poor Things.
However, while Lanthimos’ previous movies are a masterclass in contemporary oddness, not even The Lobster or The Killing Of A Sacred Deer can prepare you for the sensory onslaught of his fantastical, steampunk, reworking of the Frankenstein mythos that proves to be as funny and touching as it is uncontrollably filthy.
Meet Bella, a grown woman who has the mind of a child due to some apparent, unexplained mental deficiency and who lives under the care of the viciously scarred Godwin Baxter – a tremendously eccentric surgeon whom Bella refers to as God. As her cognitive and verbal skills improve each and everyday, Godwin enlists the services of medical student Max McCandles to document her progress, but soon a rapidly more independent Bella starts to rail against her confinement much like a stubborn adolescent.
Of course, there’s a reason for this as Bella’s origins explains a lot about her behavior. You see, Bella is the result of an experiment that saw Godwin take the body of a suicide victim and transfer the brain of her unborn child into her skull – that’s right, she literally has the brain of a child.
However, as she continue to discover the pleasures of life (she really likes the feelings her erogenous give her), she eventually runs off to have adventures with besotted cad, Duncan Wedderburn, who plans to bed her and move on once his desires are sated. However, Bella’s rebellious nature manages to flip the script on the the guy and while he struggles to contain her chaotic hunger, she continues to absorb more and more of the world, hoovering up more and more concepts such as philosophy, socialism, dancing and, of course, as much sex as she can find.
However, while her adventures take her from a cruise to Alexandria to the whorehouses of Paris, soon the pull of her home proves to be too strong; but upon arriving, Bella finds that there’s one last part of her life she must explore: the thorny nature of her past.
While Yorgos Lanthimos has created strange, esoteric and almost infantile worlds before – the emotionally stunted world of The Lobster still haunts me to this day – Poor Things pushes his boundaries further than they’ve ever been pushed before. Merging the matter-of-fact surrealism of Wes Anderson with the blunt sexual nature of his previous outings, the director has created a visually stunning, steampunk version of the Victorian age that boasts cotton candy clouds, minimalist cable cars and the freakish hybrids that scamper around Godwin’s gardens that perfectly frames the outlandish characters and situations that Poor Things continuously throws our way.
Simply put, the film takes it’s rather alarming premise (a dead woman resurrected with the brain of her own unborn baby) and uses it as a forthright metaphor for the way that the patriarchy desires to control women that can’t be controlled.
We first meet Bella toddling around the mansion of Godwin Baxter like a giant baby, clapping her hands furiously when she experiences joy and hacking up food she doesn’t like even though it’s behavior hardly befitting a lady, and as performances go, Emma Stone’s portrayal of a baby brained adult tackling confounding social issues may be the single most fearless performance seen in the last decade. Gifted with a keen desire to learn without a single thought of the consequences (she’s mentally a child, so she’s understandably fearless), Stone’s heroine is as a fascinating creation as her tremendously ruffled wardrobe as she punctures social tropes and male egos with hilariously nonchalant ease. As a result, the actress us required to not only attack the role with a balanced mix of innocence and intrigue, but it also demands that, as she learns more about her own body (masterbating, sex, relationships), she performs some of the most unflattering acts of on screen sex and nudity seen in recent times.
It’s to Stone’s credit that not only does she tackle them head on (so to speak) but she also makes them as incredibly funny as they are horrendously awkward. Peering at everyone and everything beneath inquisitive, jet black eyebrows, her forthright nature, her broken speech patterns (she describes sex as “furious jumping”) and utter lack of shame or self conscience makes her an hugely endearing lead.
However, the most satisfying aspect of Bella is how she handles the advances of various men who are drawn to her by various vices. Willem Defoe’s jigsaw-faced Godwin (whom Bella humorously refers to as “God”), is a scarred eunuch who initially sees his creation as pure science thanks to the numerous, inhuman experiments his father performed on him, Ramy Youssef’s well meaning Max is besotted with her because of her innocence and, most humorously of all, Mark Ruffalo’s gloriously slimy Duncan wishes to control her for his own, carnal ends. Each of these actors are truly great, but Ruffalo is particularly resplendent as a vanglorious piece of shit whose bounderish, gas lighting, power hungry tendencies are gradually undone one thread at a time by Bella’s unshakable, disinterested resolve.
As the movie cheekily twists knife between the ribs of toxic relationships, the patriarchy and how women are used on a general basis, the movie, tellingly, never let’s its brutally candid heroine ever feel like a victim as she constantly remains in control of every situation she finds herself in, be it stuck in a potentially abusive situation or making the best of the unsightly clientele of the brothel she works at.
At turns beguiling, shocking and completely hilarious, the latest union between Lanthimos and Stone yields boundless treasures as it follows its teetering lead on her quest to figure shit out – although, in an especially amusing twist, the plot of a reanimated woman finding great pleasure in casual sex had me recalling Frank Henenlotter’s 1990’s trash fest, Frankenhooker on numerous occasions which, I have to be honest, can only be a plus.
There’s nothing poor about this thing.
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