Bitter Moon-Roman Polansky

The human body—this vessel of which our spirit resides at the top of the food chain—is the apex of evolution. A coagulation of flesh and blood that, until we enter this planet earth, every morsel was constructed with the common purpose behind it to survive a multitude of drastic circumstances that put us in danger. Which makes it far more resilient than sickness-for-profit pharmaceutical conglomerates would like for you to believe.

A tremendous benefit when you think about it. One which undoubtedly works in our favor if we wish to lead a long life. But on the flip side of that coin is the ugly side to this benefit, which is its detriment.

Just as a good habit such as brushing your teeth, washing your clothes, being courteous to others, and eating healthy work to extend your longevity, so too can a bad habit lead to your demise. Its tantamount to going to the gym and doing nothing but bicep curls and inevitably landing on that plateau of physical stagnation.

Acclimated addictions have their flat lines as well.

Persistent drinking develops a higher tolerance level and demands greater intake. Digital addiction evolves into a thirst for likes which can only be satiated with more time spent in an altered universe that doesn't exist. Over eating develops a bigger appetite and less attention to health. And in the case in point of Bitter Moon, haphazard indulgences with either pornography or sex begins to accrue a massive ledger that can only be satiated by strolling down darker avenues of carnal depravity.

Any guy who has developed a daily ritual with PornHub scrolling knows exactly how it goes. You have your favorite video—your "go to"—that helps to kill the time and makes you feel temporarily better. But as time goes on the flame begins to dwindle and you search for something else, and there are no shortage of videos available for the pumping. But then, that too begins to get old, and you start drifting into the categories you would never even have considered from the outset. You begin to find out what Hentai is, or, what BBW stands for. This habit of scrolling through the aisles of fantasy snippets reduces one's labido into a puddle of mere lust, inducing tremendous amounts of wasted time, depression, and impotence along the way.

In Bitter Moon, Peter Coyote and Emmanuelle Seigner play this addiction out in physical form.

It begins on an innocent note—A quiet girl on the bus and a lonely writer crossing paths. But then it rapidly jettisons into a level of eroticism that takes both by surprise. The sex is fast, dangerous, passionate, and wicked. Their primal instincts are given a wide birth on the left lane of the sexual Autobahn and they know no other level than pedal to the metal.

But as is always the case, when the foundation of a relationship is cultivated on lust rather than love, the excitement erodes just as quickly as it developed. No matter what realm of role play they dabble with to catch a fix, it just doesn't work anymore.

Peter Coyote's character begins to resent Emmanuelle and he attempts to kick her to the curb like a child who has lost interest in their favorite action figure. Emmanuelle falls into panic and agrees to whatever depraved parameter Peter Coyote demands, even offering to be treated like a dog, just so long as he keeps her around.

From here the plot predictably dissolves into an emotional game of chess where they both trade the upper hand and sink lower and lower in inflicting scars to one another for the damage they had caused.

Where Hugh Jackson and Kristen Scott Thomas fit in to the story really isn't worth mentioning as the whole tale itself isn't very good. It plays out like a nauseous prequel to Fifty Shades of Grey except told by a resentful alcoholic parapalegic on a boat. Hugh becomes infatuated with Emmanuel and keeps leaving his wife to go and attempt to arrange a tryst.

The dialogue written for Peter Coyote's character was admittedly crafted by someone who had experience with prose, but just so utterly filthy that I lost any faith in believing that the scenarios Roman was portraying could actually happen. And that right there is the common key for me which unlocks the door to higher echelon film making.

I found it extremely hard to believe that Hugh Jackson would sit in a cabin and listen to Mr. Keys recount golden showers and how his wife's vagina gleaned like the holy grail inside of the shower for more than a minute or two. Even the most intellectually and sexually depraved people I have come across couldn't possibly expect you to accept such talk as common conversation.

But to Roman Polansky I suppose it all just came natural to him?

Much like I felt Closer leaned to heavily upon Natalie Portman as a stripper, Euphoria overly depended on Sydney Sweeney's breasts, and Trainwreck's comedy was solely based on Amy Shumer acting and talking like a pig, I also felt that Emmanuelle did too much of the heavy lifting.

Then again, if I am Roman Polansky, and married to Emmanuelle Seigner at her apex, I would want to flaunt that fact to the world as well. But within the realm of Bitter Moon it just wasn't enough to cover the egregious blemishes.

Unlike Frantic, where her mysteriously seductive traits were only dangled and teased to the audience that kept us wanting more and left a lasting image with which to torture ourselves in wonderment, in Bitter Moon it felt more as if she were exploited.

A big disappointment and proof that not every director hits for .1000 at the plate.

Stars: *1/2

Verdict: Pass

Cousins: Buffalo '66, 9 1/2 weeks, Fatal Attraction, Frantic