If anyone was going make a film called Nymphomaniac it’s Lars von Trier. All the more so, as it chronicles the erotic awakening of Joe, a young woman who spirals into sex addiction and extreme experiences as an adult. What’s surprising about Nymphomaniac though is how over its insane four-hour running time (cut down from five-and-a-half!) it proves unexpectedly funny and light-hearted at times, though this is juxtaposed against some uncomfortable physicality and psychology.
Split into two volumes of equal length, Nymphomaniac comprises a series of chapters detailing Joe’s experiences as recounted by her adult self (Charlotte Gainsbourg) to the curious Seligman (Stellan Skarsgård), in whose home she recovers from a savage assault. These moments provide the most humour, though Gainsbourg covers too-familiar ground with a character that doesn’t depart enough from similar performances in von Trier’s Antichrist and Melancholia. That’s right, she’s a bit annoying.
Luckily most of Volume 1 sees newcomer Stacey Martin as the younger Joe, and she’s exactly the actress the role requires, comfortably moving along a continuum from innocent to precocious, soon experienced sexually but not as wise or cunning as she’d like to think. There’s not as much levity to Volume 2, which arrives after a welcome intermission and details Gainsbourg’s less amusing journey, but strangely neither half of the film is as titillating as one would think. There’s certainly no shortage of – there’s no way to sugar-coat this – f-cking, sometimes in graphic detail, but arousal does not appear to be on von Trier’s agenda. Instead Nymphomaniac serves up a sprawling take on sexuality that is frequently ridiculous, often extreme and ultimately views its subject from the singular perspective of an inimitable filmmaker indeed.
