When the film industry heard that Gaspar Noé was in the process creating of a 3D art film, it collectively sighed, rolled its eyes, and moved onto more interesting topics. For those unfamiliar, Noé is known for the sheer provocation, controversy, and shock value that his films incur. Knowing the nature of his other work, I walked into the theatre expecting graphic pornography; naturally, I was shocked when presented with something quite different. The film, though graphic, was wholly beautiful.
Advertised as the director’s next cinematic scandal, Love proved to be much less sexually explicit than emotionally so. The sex, though in the forefront, was far from erotic. Under a grimy film of sweat and saliva, the characters explore the gritty but ever-familiar topics of heartbreak and drug addiction, often in conjunction. Through an introspective, monotone voiceover, the protagonist relays his regrets—all of which centre around the disappearance of his ex-girlfriend. The protagonist, Murphy, an unsophisticated film student, mirrors Noé himself and is immediately portrayed negatively by his own stream of audible thoughts. It is this self-loathing that permeates the film and pounds away at Murphy’s impaired consciousness.
Early on, we are introduced to Electra, the beautiful woman Murphy lost over one fateful climax. The melancholy narrative revisits the events leading up to her disappearance while taking regular breaks for animal instinct. Though the 3D ejaculation is well in the foreground, the primary significance of the sex was the intimacy behind it. In his memories, Murphy seems awake and passionate, starkly contrasting the monotonous state in which he tells the story. Now, stuck with the child of a woman he resents, he wallows in opium and the mistakes of his past. The film’s score follows this trip in eerie tandem, providing a constant reflection of the deteriorating mood. Love ultimately concludes in a literal bathtub of tears; it shows us the danger of a drug we all take.
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