(indieWIRE/ 07.09.01) -- Finally a film has arrived that
delves into the quagmire of the new millennium's muddled
feminism. Try to imagine trailer chicks Betty Friedan
and Gloria Steinem declaring their adoration for each
on the Jerry Springer Show while they punch out their one-time
lover Chuck Norris, and you sort of got it.
"Baise-moi," if you haven't heard already, is the
film that had all of France and parts of Canada blushing.
Pulled out of Paris theaters and later banned in Ontario,
Women's rights activists and Chastity Bono will be
bamboozled on how to react to this one. (The actual title is
an idiom for "Fuck Me" but try getting a listing with that
moniker into your local Pennysaver)
What we have here is a hard-core and sometimes condomed
"Thelma and Louise" with a good dose of Russ
Meyer's "Faster Pussycat Kill Kill" thrown in.
(Yes, there are numerous close-ups of vaginas, and penises,
plus everyone's favorite bedroom fare, the ever-handy and
satisfying oral sex.)
Helmed by porn director Coralie Trinh Thi and
novelist Virginie Despentes (the film's an adaptation
of her book), and starring two porn stars, Raffaela
Anderson and Karen Bach, this low-budgeted feature,
follows two damsels, Manu and Nadine, who are sick and tired
of being sexually plagued by the male animal so they turn the
tables . . . violently. Yes, a man gets shot up the butt here,
and it's about time. But women get offed here, too. One for
the use of her ATM card. That's sounds pretty indiscriminate.
But then maybe these are instinctual lower-class feminists.
Certainly books by Simone Beauvoir and Germaine
Greer aren't on their shelves. But then Manu is an ethnic,
drug-using porn star who's just been violently raped. Nadine
is a tough prostitute who watches TV while getting fucked. In
different parts of the city, they both accidentally kill a
person in a fit of rage, the wrong person -- one who's not
really the cause of their abuse.
Well, you'd kill someone, anyone, if you had just been
through what they've been through. Nadine has just turned a
trick while the TV set was on. Watching the tube upside down
while getting fucked, she sees a man brutally beat up a woman,
a gun, and a sausage getting chopped.
Meanwhile, Manu and her girlfriend, a down-and-out drug
addict, are brutally gang-raped. The druggie fights back and
is battered for doing so. Manu just complies, changing
positions when asked, all the while neither screaming or
protesting. Her passivity destroys the fun for her attackers,
and they finally walk away. Afterwards, she explains why she
claims she isn't destroyed by the assault: "I leave nothing
precious in my cunt for them to take."
What's remarkable about this rape, which is the main cause
of the film's troubles with rating boards around the world, is
that even with explicit shots of actual intercourse, it's not
exploitative. It's not out to get beer-drinking college sophs
erect as similar scenes are in "I Spit on Your Grave"
and "8MM." It's truly devastating.
A few scenes later after their first murders, both gals are
on the run. As fate would have it, they meet up at a train
station, join forces, and fall in platonic love. And what do
gals in platonic love do, kill a little. Or a lot.
While the duo do have frequent sex with men throughout
their fatal adventure, and even share lovers, it's obvious
each is getting off on watching the other get off. And when
the two are alone, frantically dancing in their undies,
bumping and grinding with each other, their girl-on-girl
sensuality is celebratory. Alone, without a man around, these
two can be free not to pose, primp, hate or fear.
And while there are no flashbacks to Manu's and Nadine's
pasts, it's easy to pencil in what caused them to become the
Butch Cassidy and Sundance Kid of serial killers.
In a telling scene, Manu is giving a blow job to a nerd
they picked up for fun in a casino. You and they know he's
going to meet a sad end. He however is oblivious, swayed by
the ecstasy of being with two hot broads for the first time in
his sorry life. Suddenly Manu gags and throws up on his cock.
The man is outraged while the gals laugh hysterically. This
just might be the film's main metaphor: vomit on the phallus.
As the duo's fame grows in the tabloids with each
additional act of violence they commit, the gals note
despondently, "We've got the moves. Where's the lines?" Later
on they repeat, "We need a punch line?" Manu and Nadine just
don't want to be notorious. They want to be notorious and
clever. They realize they need to make some kind of statement
to earn their actions some respect. But they're at a loss
here.
When an admirer who recognizes them notes, "You're pretty
laid back for girls on the run," they reply, "That's because
we have no imagination."
In Uncanny Feminism, Patricia Melencamp wrote,
"Feminist art is art which acknowledges that difference of
being a woman -- i.e. what it is to be a woman -- and then
integrates that consciousness into the art."
By that definition,
"Baise-moi" is great feminist art. It
might not be a great film structurally or technically, but
it's quite unforgettable. And depending on its success over
here, it might turn out to be a pivotal, transformative
feature. Or not.
From
Indiewire
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