It probably takes a lot to convince Nicole Kidman to show her nice tits and shaved snatch. This oddball movie most likely convinced her it was performance art over just a middle-ager's excuse to look at her goodies. Or have her administer handjobs.
Depraved cinema is how I would classify Yorgos Lanthimos. In the style of Stanley Kubrick, this story starts out as domestic terrorism and quickly becomes the Greek fable it was based on. It's just unfortunate that fable has deep roots in the Bible.
The story is of a heart surgeon, Steven Murphy played by Collin Ferrell, who after a couple of drinks ends up killing a man during a surgery. Overwrought with guilt he befriends the dead man's son, Martin, played by Barry Keoghan. Martin's mother is played by Alicia Silverstone, in what is her darkest role yet (yes, even darker than the silly "The Crush").
Murphy has two children who meet Martin, and they immediate go into a paralytic state in which their limbs go numb and they are told they will die. Which, in order to save his family, Murphy has to decide which child he has to sacrifice/kill to appease Martin.
Not much of a fable is it?
And that is the real grind with this movie is figuring out what it wants to say.
The performances are that written theatrical language which isn't spoken in movies. The world seems lifeless and soulless. The characters say things to each other as if reading a script. This reminded me of "Eyes Wide Shut." The shots linger and sometimes go completely off, whilst the entire time, no one questions the strangeness of their situation. It's a frustrating movie to watch, as I'm sure Lanthimos wants you to feel it. Though the tone of their lives/home linger, especially to me as it was shot in my hometown of Cincinnati. The mundane suburban life adds to the wretched bland situation of class as well.
This is a true test if you can make it to the end of this film.
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