Those sequences are, admittedly, pretty darn explicit – body doubles contribute shots of their engorged or lubricated genitalia – but the overwhelming sense of grey, existential gloom admits little joy into the couplings.
Steve Mc Queen’s What we do get is full-on, hardcore Von Trierism from beginning to end.
The film begins with a beautifully sinister shot of a woman lying injured in a cold urban alleyway.
Before hypothermia sets in, Seligman (Stellan Skarsgård), an austere hermetic intellectual, happens along and escorts Joe back to his squalid flat.
While he sits by her bed and offers high-brow footnotes, Joe talks him through childhood trauma, initial unsatisfactory sexual encounters and, as the first volume leads into the second, a desperate attempt to rediscover her orgasm.
We watch as Joe and a young friend stage a competition to have sex with the most passengers on a train.
Following the murder of her father by hired hand Tom Chaney, 14-year-old farm girl Mattie Ross sets out to capture the killer. Against his wishes, she joins him in his trek into the Indian Nations in search of Chaney.
marshal she can find, a man with “true grit,” Reuben J. Mattie insists on accompanying Cogburn, whose drinking, sloth, and generally reprobate character do not augment her faith in him.
They are joined by Texas Ranger La Boeuf, who wants Chaney for his own purposes.The unlikely trio find danger and surprises on the journey, and each has his or her “grit” tested.You will know the standard line on explicit sex in art-house cinema.Having strategically placed a beret over an agitated crotch, the male critic curls into an awkward ball and explains how the relevant scenes are “not at all erotic” and “actually a little boring”.Trust me on this occasion when I tell you that there really is little to get sweaty about in Lars Von Trier’s bifurcated saga on sex, crime, religion and fly fishing.For a start, there are fewer sex scenes in , as the posters have it) than you might suspect.