By Abby Garnett
By Amy Nicholson
By Alan Scherstuhl
By Inkoo Kang
By Alan Scherstuhl
By Amy Nicholson
By Mood Indigo, reviewed
By Stephanie Zacharek
Eyes Wide Shut, the final motion picture from the late, great Stanley Kubrick, is easily the most anticipated adult film of the year. It's The Phantom Menace for grown-ups. Kubrick made only thirteen features in his 46-year career, but his death in March (just after the movie's completion) and the release of some shrewdly chosen excerpts of the film's stars making out, nude, in front of a mirror, have added significantly to the pre-release buzz. The result has been a rash of magazine covers accompanied by the usual blast of journalistic wind, leading at least one national weekly to ask if the picture might not be "the sexiest ever."
The answer, unfortunately, is: not even close. Not that anyone should be surprised. This is, after all, a Stanley Kubrick picture and therefore more clinical than sensual in its analysis of our sexual lives. It is, as his films usually are, dense, complex and challenging. It is also, sad to say, ponderous, often inscrutable and ultimately not much fun.
Set in contemporary Manhattan, the film focuses on the relationship between Dr. William Harford (Tom Cruise) and his wife, Alice (Nicole Kidman). From all appearances, the Harfords are a decent, loving couple, with one daughter, Helena (Madison Eginton), and a conventional, though ritzy, lifestyle. As the movie begins, it's the Christmas season, opening the door to the possibility that Kubrick intended his film to be a sort of modern-day variation of A Christmas Carol. Regardless, the film is meant to be seen as a cautionary tale on the themes of fidelity, temptation and desire.
In the beginning, relations between William and his wife seem nearly ideal. They attend a party at the home of a friend, Victor (played with worldly panache by Sydney Pollack), drink a little, flirt a little, go home and make love. (William has to do a little doctoring, too, when Victor's junkie girlfriend reacts badly to her speedball.) However, the following evening, after they smoke a little pot to loosen up for another lovemaking session, Alice becomes angry and aggressive and launches into a long monologue about a powerful sexual fantasy involving a naval officer.
This extended monologue--which the actress delivers during a deluge of complex emotions that range from disdain to revulsion--is Kidman's finest moment in an otherwise unremarkable and, at times, irritating performance. (She makes a very silly drunk.) From this point on, the film leaves the waking, so-called real world and enters a world that looks real but may or may not be a dream. (The movie was inspired by a short fiction by Arthur Schnitzler, who was a contemporary of Freud's.)
If this sounds confusing, it is, and intentionally so. Maybe it was the pot, or maybe the dream began long before that, but after Alice tells her husband about her naval fantasy, the world around him is no longer the same. During a visit to the home of a recently deceased patient, he comforts the man's daughter, only to have her pledge her undying devotion. Afterward, on the street, a prostitute invites him home. (Only a last-minute cell-phone call from his wife prevents the consummation of their deal.) Everywhere he goes, he is tempted. And why not give in? he asks himself, his head filled with visions of his wife in bed with her handsome naval officer.
This clumsily executed vision--shot in music-video-style black and white--includes the most amateurish images of Kubrick's career. Throughout, the filmmaking seems flat and unimaginative. The editing, especially, appears ham-handed, always jumping the gun and cutting away impatiently, prematurely. Overall, the film qualifies as one of the least impressive efforts by a great director in recent memory.
The movie's pivotal sequence may be its most embarrassing. By chance, the address and the password for a secret society fall into William's lap. With every meeting at different, highly classified locations, the group offers an opportunity for its members--who dress in black ties, hooded capes and masks--to live out their deepest, most private sexual fantasies in public, with the promise of complete anonymity. William, though, is not a member and, after being found out, is apparently on the brink of losing his life at the hands of these very touchy revelers.
Rather than give away what happens next, suffice it to say that the good doctor manages to get away unharmed. He has, however, had an opportunity to look into a hellish pit of promiscuity and vice and has been deeply scared by the experience. The audience, though, may feel more like laughing at these absurdly contrived sexual sideshows. There can't be that many people who would want their orgies to take on the trappings of some wayward sect of the Catholic Church, with red-robed bishops, incense, chanting and all the rest. And while the membership is supposedly made up of the highest of high-rollers, the sexual program is just slightly racier than what you'd find at any strip joint. By and large, it just looks awkward and comical.
Throughout these events, Cruise mostly looks confused. (And we share the feeling.) If there had been anything like a logical emotional progression in his performance, the film might have accumulated some dramatic momentum and suspense, but, alas, our forever-boyish star just can't deliver. At moments like the one in which he goes to examine the corpse of a dead junkie who may just be the woman who rescued him from the angry group the night before, his actions are totally baffling.
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