[8.6/10] A movie to recoil from, and to bask in.
Poor Things is a movie to recoil from because it is a story of abuse. The mere creation of Bella Baxter -- the movie’s wondrous, improbable protagonist -- is an act of abuse. Her erstwhile father, Godwin (cheekily referred to as “God” by his creation) implants the mind of a fetus into the mind of the poor child’s own suicidal mother, in a monstrous act. Even as he cannot help but develop paternal affection for young Bella, he keeps her locked away, attempts to marries her off to his assistant despite her immature mind, and treats as much like an experiment as an offspring.
Bella’s treatment at the hands of her own creator and surrogate father is abhorrent, and not for nothing, he’s probably the person who loves and respects her the most, which really sets the tone for the film.
Because things don’t stop there. A cad named Duncan Wedderburn (played with maximalist lunacy by a scenery-chewing Mark Ruffalo) spirits her away, rapes her, and keeps her like a pet in a jag and jaunt across the continent not unlike that of Humbert Humbert. Her attempts to break free are met with more control, anger, and even violence. Even friends, intent on showing her the world, do so with an intent to break her spirit. The madame at the brothel where she seizes her own “means of production” gives her a lifeline, but exerts her own brand of manipulation and assault.
And the piece de resistance of the film’s unconscionable abusers is Bella’s quasi ex-husband, quasi-father, who takes joy in cruelly, threatens her with firearms, plans to surgically remove her ability to enjoy sex, and accounts for, in his own twisted way, why Bella’s mother would rather leave this cruel world than bring her abuser’s child into it.
It is no coincidence that these controlling trespassers are almost exclusively men. Even the kinder ones, like Godwin’s more availing and understanding assistant, Max McCandles, takes advantage of Bella when she’s in an immature state and unable to consent, desiring the physical and ignoring the mental.
And it’s no coincidence that those who empower Bella, who teach her philosophy and politics and self-possession, are women. From Martha, the aging European cruiser who shows Bella theory; to fellow french prostitute Toinette who helps Bella see the confluence of politics and economics that give her a context and identify the scars that clue her into the past; to even Swiney, the madame who takes her cut but gives Bella perspective, those who lift Bella up share her gender.
In that, Poor Things is a peculiar sibling of fellow 2023 release Barbie, and a raunchier cousin of 2013’s Under the Skin in its equally off-kilter examination of what it is to be a woman, the projections and invasions of their male counterparts, and the abuse that must be endured simply for existing in this state. For all its outsized grandeur, Poor Things is startlingly frank in its depiction of many of these things, and it’s easy to flinch in its barest moments.
It’s also easy to flinch because Poor Things is a thoroughly gross movie. Gross because, being a modern day Frankenstein tale of surgeons and their subjects, it is riddled with scars, blood, and scattered organs. Gross because time and again the viewer must watch a person with the body of an adult but the mind of a child be taken advantage of sexually. Gross because it doesn’t shy away from the awkwardness and multitudinal expressions of sex in a way that is both affirming and repulsive in its peculiar way. This is not a movie for the squeamish, either physically or emotionally.
And yet, despite all of that, there is more than enough to bask in here.For one thing, Poor Things is a beautiful film. The cinematography evolves as Bella does, starting with ornate stage play sets in black and white, blossoming into gorgeous impressionistic settings in technicolor splendor, and eventually reaching a still exaggerated but ultimately more realistic presentation as Bella’s more mature view of the world comes into focus. The way the aesthetic mirrors the main character’s growth and understanding is both visually stunning and a masterful blend of vision and theme.
And the imagery works on its own terms. Director Yorgos Lanthimos and cinematographer Robbie Ryan craft an iconography that is worth the price of admission on its own. The style of Poor Things blends the larger-than-life expressionism of Fritz Land, with the misfits in a toybox world sensibilities of Tim Burton, with the liminal oddity of Jean-Pierre Jeunet, and the twee dioramas populated with broken souls of Wes Anderson. The production design and makeup and costuming, for Bella in particular, invite you into this particular, peculiarly-crafted world with its characters who are no less distinctive in look than in personality. In terms of pure style, pure vibes, pure feel, Poor Things is an experience all its own.
It is also blackly funny. Part of what cuts the grimness of the film’s subject matter is that laughs abound, in the dark absurdity of Bella’s various predicaments, of her matter-of-fact ways over around and through them, and in the almost slapstick-y moments of physical comedy that blend the sublime and the ridiculous. Even in its bleakest stretches, Poor Things carries an arch tone that helps the medicine go down.
It doesn’t hurt that this is one of the most quotable films of the season. In the script penned by Tony McNamara, Bella has a Vonnegut-esque way of identifying the absurdity of human existence by simply stating it plainly. There is a “from the mouths of babes” quality to her comments, driving incisive critique though blithely stating the obvious in a way that upsets polite society. Her matter-of-fact comments are often uproarious, from her agahstness at a new friend’s coital interregnum, to the aforementioned affirmation of a sex worker’s yonic take on Marxism, to Bella’s simple declaration that she need not keep chewing something that revolts her.
But that is the cinch of the film, because as much as Poor Things centers on the abusive and revolting, as much as it offers treats in the form of splendorous images and witty lines, it is ultimately a story of self-actualization. Star Emma Stone sells Bella’s journey from a developmentally challenged child who is misdirected and taken advantage of by all those who wish to extract her gifts for their pleasures, to a questioning young soul finding themselves and discovering their wants, to a worldly and experienced operator who is blunt in her assessments but no less direct or effective at reaching her desires, finally subject and not object.
That is the true focus of the film: what it is to grow-up, what it is to come into your own, what it is to become a person, with all the dangers and messiness and reckonings that entails, but in the right hands and the right company, what joys and solace it may bring as well. (Again, making it a funhouse mirror version of fellow Best Picture nominee Barbie.) Swiney tells Bella that we must experience the good and the bad, to have a full sense of the world, to know, to grow, and become. And in the end, Bella does.
Through all of her adventures, she comes out a battered but fully-formed, self-possessed individual, marked by experiences but also fortified by them. She abandons one abuser in good faith and then rejects and repels him when he blames her for all his self-made problems. She neutralizes her original abuser of sorts and turns him into an erstwhile pet for good measure. She brings her friends close, and finds a partner who is more understanding and forgiving.
Most of all, she breaks the cycle. What makes a man capable of the unfathomable acts Godwin commits sympathetic is that, as he recounts his own childhood of cruel experiments done dispassionately, you see the way he is merely perpetuating his own abuse, albeit with genuine affection breaking through for Bella. When Bella comes into her power, she does not forgive Godwin exactly, but she makes peace with him on his slow road to death. He committed the original sin of violation, lied to her, kept her, but is also the one who recognized her as a being of free will, and perhaps even one who provoked love through his futile attempts at detachment.
Ultimately, she follows in his footsteps, becoming a surgeon herself and stepping into his shoes. She spends much of the film bristling against the shackles of a system, finding the words to question it, and then building her own little oasis apart from it. There is great horror in the core of Poor Things, in its frank depiction of cruelty and craven use of another body and soul. But it is also a story of an ungodly creation who, through experiencing life’s offerings both harsh and wondrous, eventually supplants the man who sewed her together, and becomes her own creator.
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