#9) Venus in Fur, by Roman Polanski (2013)

Venus-Aphrodite was born of sea foam. Roman theology presents this watery goddess as essential to the genesis and balance of life. Her male counterparts, Vulcan and Mars, are exertive and combustible. Venus absorbs and tempers these male traits, mutually uniting the opposites of male and female in an affectionate way.

Roman Polanski’s film draws upon two sources: David Ives’ New York set play, and the 1870 Austrian novel by Leopold von Sacher-Masoch. Ironically, for a person with the last name Masoch, the story deals with sadomasochism and female dominance. Roman Polanski seems to have found himself a mirror through this work, perhaps a template for him to delve into a dark confessional with his controversial sexual history.

The film immediately opens with a sense of omnipotence; we are in the presence of a goddess, her point of view shot tracking down a Parisian sidewalk towards a theater. Venus looms over everything, her rainstorm falling upon the isolated box where a fiery, ambitious writer/director, Thomas Novacheck (Mathieu Almaric), stresses over casting the lead to his play, Venus in Fur. Venus has come in the form of Vanda (Emmanuelle Seigner), not the sexy, young classically trained actress he is looking for, but an older, lecherous woman who is late to audition, unwanted by Thomas. But over the course of the film, she will grow on him desirously. She’s not the dimwit he perceives other actresses to be; she’s done her homework and brings the play to life in a way he’s not expected.

On the surface, it may seem this is a simple tale about a misogynist learning a lesson in feminism, but the text becomes much more complicated. Thomas thinks he’s making a statement on the power of femininity, but Vanda challenges the idea that it’s nothing more than perversion. He thinks he’s provocative, she thinks he’s just revealing his most base desires.

The film blurs the lines between reality and fiction, their actual dialogue and the play they’re rehearsing. The characters in the play explore their sexuality through sadomasochism; pain is sensuous. He had an abusive aunt who beat him with a cane while he lay front forward on fur. Then he kissed her foot, establishing her dominant position. Vanda continually picks at Thomas for having written these scenarios. The character is depicted as someone who wants the female force to have power over him, for him to be her possession – the anvil to her hammer, create me/annihilate me. But Vanda sees right through this, recognizing that the more he submits as a slave, the more he dominates. He is, in fact, a sexist.

The genius of the characterization is in the play they’re rehearsing, which reveals everything you need to know about Thomas to his core. Vanda is something otherworldy, mysterious, and yet never inhabiting supernatural powers. Perhaps the most revealing comes in the third act, when the roles are reversed. He wears the lipstick, heels, and fur for her most humiliating moment, thus it is he who should play it. She now becomes the submissive, begging for the hurt. He is tied to a phallic symbol for the final confrontation, where he will meet his ultimate fate, the place from whence all his male ego and misogyny derives.

The sexual tension is extraordinary throughout. We ask ourselves: when will they consummate? But that would be too conventional and unsatisfying, a cliché culmination of a romantic comedy. What Venus has to offer is something much more meaningful than sex, despite that it has to do with human sexuality. I like the idea that false male feminism is thrown back in the author’s face. He thinks he’s doing something for women’s empowerment, honoring the goddess Venus in his writing. Yes, I think this is a confession for Polanski, whether he’s aware of it or not.

Directed by Roman Polanski. Written by David Ives (based on his play) and Roman Polanski. Produced by Alain Sarde & Robert Benmussa. Music by Alexandre Desplat. Starring Mathieu Almaric and Emmanuelle Seigner. French language. Rated R.

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