99% of people will never experience this sort of passion in their lives. Its mere presence makes them uncomfortable. When I left the theatre, I watched as the only couple I was with instinctively held hands, making small criticisms to cast off the demons brought forth by a film which by all standards I know is perfect.
For the last few weeks I have been discussing the disappearance of sex from cinema. People still have sex in movies, but its presence seems superfluous, something for filmmakers to pay uncomfortable lip service to. A simple cut from a kiss to a cigarette seems to suffice for this essential human act.
The seventies were a different time. Movies like this one, or Straw Dogs, challenged our notion and understanding of sexuality before pornography became larger than the music industry. It has always been a difficult topic for me, one heavily associated with first christian and later feminist-inspired guilt.
We are all composed of desires, most of which, if ever acknowledged, go unfulfilled. People often seem content with security, and lull their basic instincts into a daily routine that passes for love.
In this film, where characters eschew their names and past, a space is created where primal passion can exist. As Jeanne says:
The workers retire to a secret flat,
take off their overalls,
become men and women again,
and make love.
Marlon Brando and Maria Schneider Embrace
Afterward a return to modern society becomes impossible, Chekov’s gun becomes necessary to destroy the monstrous desire that has been unleashed. We return to our daily lives, shaken, questioning our capacity to feel for one another.
