I simply cannot fathom how a film with a premise like this can fail on every level to strike one iota of interest in the viewer. What should be a dark, seedy, erotic, subversive journey through Nazi sadism and sexual obsession becomes a bland, stoic, embarrassing disaster. There is simply an unending buffet of explorable ideas with the lingering pain of concentration camp imprisonment/sexual abuse and transgression, yet somehow this film seems content with not really exploring anything. Despite this, the subject matter is never taken far enough to even be called exploitation. It's just
.nothing. It feels as if Liliana Cavani saw this material as a challenge. Feeling that it was far too interesting, she would see just how much she could whittle it down until no one would care one way or the other. There is an overwhelming feeling that perhaps the material actually was too risqué or subversive for her, and as not to offend by going to any extreme, it was kept generic out of safety. One cannot say for certain.
Generic cinematography captures the lifelessness of the director's vision with dull grays pervading every shot. Watch Pasolini's Salo if you want to see how to portray decadence visually. Charlotte Rampling and Dirk Bogarde are about as interesting as cacti, lazily looking forlorn in every shot, other than when they roll around giggling and lightly humping for three minutes at a time. Rampling, in particular, gave me no reason to care at all what happened to her. She walks the world, machine-like, occasionally giving a quick shocked glare, as if the director finally admitted that she needed to do SOMETHING. Concurrently, every one else in the cast defies all reason by staunch adherence to expressing less emotion than Caligari's Somnambulist. Claiming "they are Nazi's" or "she is scarred from her past!" do not excuse lazy direction and wooden performances. These people make Bresson's actors appear radiant and full of life. There is a key scene where Charlotte Rampling dances and serenades multiple SS officers while topless, adorned with a Nazi commander's cap. This scene is not disturbing. It is not titillating or erotic. Yet it appears that the director's goal was to induce both feelings of attraction and repulsion in the viewer, perhaps to have us realize her brilliance in making us question how we could be attracted to something so despicable (though, judging from the rest of the film, Cavani may not be talented enough to create such a scene or think such a thought). What should be both haunting and beautiful turns hokey and irritating as it drags on. Overall it seems as if Cavani is desperately trying to be Catherine Breillat before there really was a Catherine Breillat. She failed.
Generic cinematography captures the lifelessness of the director's vision with dull grays pervading every shot. Watch Pasolini's Salo if you want to see how to portray decadence visually. Charlotte Rampling and Dirk Bogarde are about as interesting as cacti, lazily looking forlorn in every shot, other than when they roll around giggling and lightly humping for three minutes at a time. Rampling, in particular, gave me no reason to care at all what happened to her. She walks the world, machine-like, occasionally giving a quick shocked glare, as if the director finally admitted that she needed to do SOMETHING. Concurrently, every one else in the cast defies all reason by staunch adherence to expressing less emotion than Caligari's Somnambulist. Claiming "they are Nazi's" or "she is scarred from her past!" do not excuse lazy direction and wooden performances. These people make Bresson's actors appear radiant and full of life. There is a key scene where Charlotte Rampling dances and serenades multiple SS officers while topless, adorned with a Nazi commander's cap. This scene is not disturbing. It is not titillating or erotic. Yet it appears that the director's goal was to induce both feelings of attraction and repulsion in the viewer, perhaps to have us realize her brilliance in making us question how we could be attracted to something so despicable (though, judging from the rest of the film, Cavani may not be talented enough to create such a scene or think such a thought). What should be both haunting and beautiful turns hokey and irritating as it drags on. Overall it seems as if Cavani is desperately trying to be Catherine Breillat before there really was a Catherine Breillat. She failed.