Hello all---please join me at the usual place of residence for a screening of Damage (1992), French New Wave artist Louis Malle's second to last feature film and based on the novel of the same name by Josephine Hart.
Damage is one of those nasty little sexual obsession films, the type that used to be released on VHS with the words "erotic thriller" on the sides. In fact, my copy is an old VHS tape, with Rolling Stones critic Peter Travers' raving that the film is, ahem, "fiercely erotic." That's all fine and dandy, but it sounds rather violent, as if leaving a screening would make my flesh feel flagellated or virtually lacerated by the deprecating screen images. Afterwards, I would imagine you'd look like someone that just ate some very hot Mexican food, all red and sweaty, clenching orifices together, as the slightest move may engender indiscreet alarm. Needless to say, the last time I viewed Damage I was in High School, and was not particularly taken with the soft-core pornographic scenes, or Jeremy Irons' ropy sinews dashing all about God's green earth. So I am curious to revisit this flick, especially after having read the novel recently and learning that Juliette Binoche infamously walked off the set due to Irons becoming particularly brutal during the passionate, unbridled, all consuming sex scenes. At least we know he was giving it his all. Ah, Juliette! I had been in the midst of a Miranda Richardson craze at the time, who was nominated for an Oscar for Best Supporting Actress here as the jilted British wife.
Not having been old enough to enjoy the somewhat perverted love triangle, this dark, deadly and destructive tale about libido may be more fiercely neurotic than erotic, but then I often mistake the two anyway. In honor of sensual (note the word "sensual," and not "sexual") obsessions, our screening of Damage will be accompanied with a decadent chocolate cake. Bon appetite!
Damage is one of those nasty little sexual obsession films, the type that used to be released on VHS with the words "erotic thriller" on the sides. In fact, my copy is an old VHS tape, with Rolling Stones critic Peter Travers' raving that the film is, ahem, "fiercely erotic." That's all fine and dandy, but it sounds rather violent, as if leaving a screening would make my flesh feel flagellated or virtually lacerated by the deprecating screen images. Afterwards, I would imagine you'd look like someone that just ate some very hot Mexican food, all red and sweaty, clenching orifices together, as the slightest move may engender indiscreet alarm. Needless to say, the last time I viewed Damage I was in High School, and was not particularly taken with the soft-core pornographic scenes, or Jeremy Irons' ropy sinews dashing all about God's green earth. So I am curious to revisit this flick, especially after having read the novel recently and learning that Juliette Binoche infamously walked off the set due to Irons becoming particularly brutal during the passionate, unbridled, all consuming sex scenes. At least we know he was giving it his all. Ah, Juliette! I had been in the midst of a Miranda Richardson craze at the time, who was nominated for an Oscar for Best Supporting Actress here as the jilted British wife.
Not having been old enough to enjoy the somewhat perverted love triangle, this dark, deadly and destructive tale about libido may be more fiercely neurotic than erotic, but then I often mistake the two anyway. In honor of sensual (note the word "sensual," and not "sexual") obsessions, our screening of Damage will be accompanied with a decadent chocolate cake. Bon appetite!
I wish I could be there.
ReplyDeleteI wish you could be, too:)
ReplyDelete