When a bizarre movie becomes a hit, it inevitably gets labeled by those who either saw it and didn't like it or who won't see it at all. There's nothing wrong with that in principle. I didn't see "Wonka" because Timothee singing in that purple coat makes me wince, and my mom didn't see "The Favourite" because she heard it's the "movie that ends in rabbits ***ing". But "Poor Things" is a much stranger film than either of those, and maybe a little less accessible, so I regret that many will take a permanent rain check on it because it's the "Frankenstein sex movie".
"Poor Things" does have Frankenstein and sex, and really a bounty of both, but they're just figments of a much larger, more vivid assembly. Frankly, the whole viewing experience is a vacation for your face and brain. Yorgos Lanthimos's newest movie is a surrealist crusade that features Frankenstein, insofar as his monster allegorizes autonomy of the body, and sex - as a tool, a weapon, and a birthright endeavor. This movie is not dry, but it might have been if someone not named Yorgos Lanthimos made it. Though the commentary is sharply relevant, "Poor Things" douses it with whimsical absurdity, as experienced by the cast, in some weird, dazzling version of Earth from a much cooler dimension.
Emma Stone puppeteers her character Bella in hilarious fashion. Bella Baxter is a reanimated stranger raised by Willem Dafoe's Dr. Godwin (and Ramy Youssef's Max McCandles) in a lab that also features a house, and she spends the first act stumbling around the place, reacting to things as a feral kitten would. This is hysterical, made so by the cast's flawless delivery. But the real fun begins when she leaves home to wander the world with some sleazeball named Wedderburn (Mark Ruffalo). Undead Bella, mentally young but growing, blazes a path visible from the I. S. S. She serves the role a beautiful alien might; naïve to human nature and its greed but growing more aware and more cynical with each interaction. Occasionally she is jerked to attention by our gentler nature in music, altruism, and food. She considers new philosophies. She experiments. Most importantly, she obtains agency over herself - with difficulty.
The most interesting part of the film for me - especially transparent while Bella's brain is still (literally) infantile - is how the men around her project themselves. She's a canvas for them to paint their desires. Because she had no say in her existence and can't yet reflect or interpret the whims of others, she accepts projections with little say-so. Dr. Godwin sees her as a daughter because he wants to; McCandles sees her as a partner because he wants to; Wedderburn sees her as a sexual escapade because he, ah... needs to (as a "pretty moron" with paper-thin ego would). Thus "Poor Things" holds up a mirror to all of us, making us giggle at our own lust and selfishness, as we every day compartmentalize people into our preferred form.
I think a lot of filmmakers making points about serious subjects are afraid of being too funny. The best of them know how to do it without subtracting from the message. My god, I was laughing nearly the entire runtime. Laughing at pitch-black humor, laughing at physical comedy, laughing at Mark Ruffalo saying "ow" in an unimaginably pretentious tone. And there's more - so much more to commend that I've barely touched on, which is fitting for this whale of a movie. It's not even long by today's standards, but rather so vibrant and juicy that it demands rewatching. If there were flaws, I'm not ready to articulate them; are there flaws in a Salvador Dali painting? I cannot wait to trap people into seeing it.
10/10 for wanting to hit a baby in public.
"Poor Things" does have Frankenstein and sex, and really a bounty of both, but they're just figments of a much larger, more vivid assembly. Frankly, the whole viewing experience is a vacation for your face and brain. Yorgos Lanthimos's newest movie is a surrealist crusade that features Frankenstein, insofar as his monster allegorizes autonomy of the body, and sex - as a tool, a weapon, and a birthright endeavor. This movie is not dry, but it might have been if someone not named Yorgos Lanthimos made it. Though the commentary is sharply relevant, "Poor Things" douses it with whimsical absurdity, as experienced by the cast, in some weird, dazzling version of Earth from a much cooler dimension.
Emma Stone puppeteers her character Bella in hilarious fashion. Bella Baxter is a reanimated stranger raised by Willem Dafoe's Dr. Godwin (and Ramy Youssef's Max McCandles) in a lab that also features a house, and she spends the first act stumbling around the place, reacting to things as a feral kitten would. This is hysterical, made so by the cast's flawless delivery. But the real fun begins when she leaves home to wander the world with some sleazeball named Wedderburn (Mark Ruffalo). Undead Bella, mentally young but growing, blazes a path visible from the I. S. S. She serves the role a beautiful alien might; naïve to human nature and its greed but growing more aware and more cynical with each interaction. Occasionally she is jerked to attention by our gentler nature in music, altruism, and food. She considers new philosophies. She experiments. Most importantly, she obtains agency over herself - with difficulty.
The most interesting part of the film for me - especially transparent while Bella's brain is still (literally) infantile - is how the men around her project themselves. She's a canvas for them to paint their desires. Because she had no say in her existence and can't yet reflect or interpret the whims of others, she accepts projections with little say-so. Dr. Godwin sees her as a daughter because he wants to; McCandles sees her as a partner because he wants to; Wedderburn sees her as a sexual escapade because he, ah... needs to (as a "pretty moron" with paper-thin ego would). Thus "Poor Things" holds up a mirror to all of us, making us giggle at our own lust and selfishness, as we every day compartmentalize people into our preferred form.
I think a lot of filmmakers making points about serious subjects are afraid of being too funny. The best of them know how to do it without subtracting from the message. My god, I was laughing nearly the entire runtime. Laughing at pitch-black humor, laughing at physical comedy, laughing at Mark Ruffalo saying "ow" in an unimaginably pretentious tone. And there's more - so much more to commend that I've barely touched on, which is fitting for this whale of a movie. It's not even long by today's standards, but rather so vibrant and juicy that it demands rewatching. If there were flaws, I'm not ready to articulate them; are there flaws in a Salvador Dali painting? I cannot wait to trap people into seeing it.
10/10 for wanting to hit a baby in public.