Nymphomaniac: Volume IIAddiction is defined as a condition where a person does something which should be pleasurable, but at the expense of his or her own well-being--without concern for enjoyment, but out of compulsion. Nymphomaniac: Volume II picks up immediately where Volume I left off, in truth because they are both a part of the same massive movie. Joe's (Charlotte Gainsbourg) sexual odyssey--and her recollection of her past to her savior and audience, Seligman (Stellan Skarsgård), continues through the night, as the chapters of her life continue to unfold like pages of a novel part Charles Dickens and part Larry Flynt.
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Following Joe's revelation that she could no longer find pleasure in intercourse, she reads Seligman's response to be like that of indifference, that he finds no interest in her sexual adventures, having frequently digressed into tangent topics or analogies, a behavior which has begun to infuriate her. Joe then deduces that her host is a virgin, and cannot find gratification in the vicarious reflections on Joe's past because he has no basis of comparison. "I'm a virgin; I'm innocent." Seligman uses these words to describe himself as being "the perfect listener" to her story, one who, he claims, can remain objective to her tale of carnal lust, free from preconceived notions of experience. He asserts that his interests are in her character, not in the salacious. And yet that final assertion about innocence reveals that no one is truly without prejudice; if he is innocent, what is Joe? It strikes me as interesting--"Kafkaesque"--that most of the characters in Nymphomaniac are only named by a single letter, as if to protect them from incrimination or libel. Alternately, maybe that's all Joe believes is necessary to delineate these proxies in her story, for reasons which could range from a lack of concern for them in the big picture of her adventures, or the idea that providing undue attention to characters which are, in reality, of little consequence is distracting; perhaps she's told this story before, and has polished it over time. And while Joe may restrict her events to the ones necessary to recall for the benefit of her audience, Seligman's contributions are to place the story in a more universal context with his segues into his digressions. One such tangent concerns his "cat door", for a cat which has long since gone. In a way, Joe is like a cat, brought in from the wild for shelter, offering her feline acumen and priding herself on her independence, both tender and yet given claws.
Joe observes the image of the Rublev-esque icon of the Virgin Mary and the infant Jesus, which Seligman explains is a pictograph in the style of the "Eastern church", referring to the differences in Orthodox Christianity and Roman Catholicism, a digression which--in keeping with her narrative to incorporate elements of Seligman's spartan apartment into her chapter titles--leads her to, in her eyes, the true beginning of her downfall. And while her admission of "chapter breaks" in her story is present before, here Joe openly acknowledges that her story--or series of stories--is a tale starring "Joe the nymphomaniac", and she is a character in her own tale, be it fact or fiction--or a combination--only Joe knows. And just as in the beginning of Volume I, her chapter begins with a long span of darkness, although sounds can be heard. This is how we establish the story in our imaginations, visualizing what others recall and we picture in our mind's eye. Although previously identified that neither Seligman nor Joe claim to be religious, Seligman is knowledgeable about religious iconography and symbolism. So when Joe relates to him her vision she experienced upon her first orgasm at the age of twelve, one which she describes--and Seligman identifies--as the Whore of Babylon and Valeria Messalina, it becomes clear that Joe's image of herself is one of a woman with an inherent affinity for original sin...the devil's concubine. This is an image which only feeds into her potential desire for Seligman to see her as a being unworthy of love, and only fit for abuse, one he seems determined to exorcise from her mind by rational dismissals of her proclamations at being sinful. During this vision, Joe (Ananya Berg) is laying in a meadow, surrounded by nature; it is a shot unmistakably like one featured in Lars von Trier's own Antichrist, as well as being similar to the "Ophelia shot" in his Melancholia--both of which make up the director's so-called "depression trilogy" alongside Nymphomaniac. These images portray woman and nature unified...or perhaps it is of woman engulfed by nature; it is her abode and her cage, both. Lars von Trier continues his own self-reflexiveness as a filmmaker in a scene where Joe and Jerôme's (Shia LaBoeuf) toddler son, Marcel, climbs out onto the balcony, unattended by his mother, in a scene virtually identical to the opening of Antichrist; there is even the musical accompaniment of "Lascia ch'io pianga" by Handel, as well.
After Joe describes her experience of an encounter with two black men--whom she refers to as "negros"--Seligman chastises her for using a politically incorrect choice of words. Joe's response is to retort that censorship and the reproach wielded against those who "mean right but speak wrong" is a kind of fascism, but simultaneously asserts that those who employ such means are too stupid to appreciate the democratic government established to serve them. Her candor might be more palatable, save for her sardonic world view which colors her spectrum. This exchange is one of the first to follow of disagreements about social issues between Seligman and Joe, neither of which would be regarded as conservative by any means, but astute enough to see the underpinnings of the other's stance and the inherent shortcomings of it as well. Following one chapter of Joe's story, we return to see Joe standing by the window, and Seligman seated on the bed, their positions reversed as the roles of man and woman sometimes are in the story. As Joe has made mention of a style of knot used called a "Prusik Knot", Seligman relates a story about its inception, that a mountain climber developed it to save himself from death. Joe snidely bites back that this digression of his is his weakest yet, because for her, the idea of the knot and its significance in the story has more to do with her path of destruction, and Seligman only observes the superficial elements of her tale, not the deeper meaning. Sometimes their attitudes get reversed, and like any serious discussion about serious issues, there is bound to be the inevitable disagreement, even an argument. The issue of women's rights regarding pregnancy remains one of the most heated of hot-button social issues in politics today. It is a subject where virtually everyone has an opinion, and one which frequently escalates into arguments driven by emotion. It is, by nature, a problem which divides men and women, as well as for other reasons. That said, Joe's choice to abort her second child is followed by scenes of her mandatory consultation--one she vehemently rages against--which follows in the manner of arguments about abortion in a kernel, moments which are astute in projecting either side of the argument as "valid", but impossible to wholly remove from the interminable subjectivity of the topic, like the issue itself. There is a compelling dialectic between Seligman and Joe following her harrowing account of the self-administered procedure, one which is fundamentally a commentary both pointed and provocative. It exposes inner truths about them both--just as these arguments can do in reality--and cuts through the facade they otherwise have borne during the film. Frankly, it is the single best discussion of the topic put to film.
When sex no longer thrills Joe, she turns to masochism to try to reboot her libido. Rather than seek medical aid, she goes to a different kind of clinician, one she seeks to abuse her in a fashion like punishment. For Joe, the initial session is terrifying. It's not as though she hasn't been in humiliating scenarios before, but this clandestine arrangement with "K" (Jamie Bell) is one where she is conscious of the fact that she has no real power, and having been accustomed to this with her previous lovers, this lack of control is the fear she finds so unfamiliar. In keeping with sadomasochism, there is the sense that Joe craves the presence of her father (Christian Slater) in her life again. K's ministrations are a discipline--more severe than any kind of spanking, however--which she believes she deserves because she has been "bad" for so long, and needs the closure she subconsciously hopes to find in the process. Even K's story about the blood knot is reminiscent of her father telling her the tale of the ash tree as a child. Over the years, Joe's addiction results in her abandonment by Jerôme, who takes her son far from her reach, her only contribution to his upbringing via an anonymous trust fund. As her tenuous grasp to maintain some semblance of normalcy crumbles in her workplace, she is commanded to attend group therapy for her condition. It is here where Joe not only confronts the reality of her addiction, but also one of self-assessment; the chapter is aptly titled "The Mirror". Joe recalls how the group's existence--and a hypocritical society's means to reduce a problem--was to feign interest in helping the individual, when in fact it is only really interested in containing the problem that is the individual in the context of normalcy. This means of containment is exercised in sterile behaviors, such as promoting exclusive word choice, maintaining a bureaucratic kind of control over the self, which Joe recognizes and breaks through not by means of submission, but in keeping with her inner fire, by rebellion, even if it is one which means a continued progression down the path of self-destruction.
As the veils are torn away, Joe invariably turns to crime--debt collection (read: extortion)--utilizing her "skillset" acquired over the years, now committed to her own willingness to tread into darkness. (I find it interesting that all of her victims are men; yes, victims.) In a way, Seligman is a kind of victim for her own brand of extortion. In Volume I, a younger Joe (Stacy Martin) recalls how she told men how she enjoyed her first orgasm with each one of them; in Volume II, she entraps a debtor (Jean-Marc Barr) into divulging his secret perversion by telling a story about a boy on a playground. Joe tells stories to get men to behave a certain way; that's what she does, and the evidence shows she does it well. Why should Seligman be any different? And after finding success in her criminal profession, Joe is convinced by her underworld promoter, "L" (Willem Dafoe), to survey a prospective protege, a young girl called "P" (Mia Goth). P invariably reminds Joe of herself: vulnerable, lonely, possessed of a dark side. Although their relationship begins as a benign mentorship, it develops into a love affair, a way for Joe to rediscover herself, a means to reconnect with her own disenfranchised youth, lost to her rampant sexuality now restricted to a self-destructive form of self-gratification. This also serves as yet another method for Joe to revisit her memories of her father, since her relationship with P is both one of a parental and an erotic perspective. This all changes following a key betrayal, which revokes any doubt she had that love is a lie, and strips away the one last veil of humanity left following her discovery up on the mountain. In Joe's world, sentimentality and love are the only true vices, the crippling weaknesses which leave her unable to be true to herself, undermining her indomitable fire. And, of course, in the end, the cynical lesson remains that no amount of moralizing, preaching, proselytizing, or confessions can really overcome the simple, basic truths about human nature, no matter how much you think you know someone, you can only know yourself.
Recommended for: Fans of a complex character study, not just of Joe but also of her witness, Seligman. Their discourse is a fine example of how people begin to let someone in following a revelation about themselves. It is a characteristic shared when people become friends, and when people engage in a confidence game, both. It is also a riveting and shockingly frank tale of sex, violence, and even acceptance.
Joe observes the image of the Rublev-esque icon of the Virgin Mary and the infant Jesus, which Seligman explains is a pictograph in the style of the "Eastern church", referring to the differences in Orthodox Christianity and Roman Catholicism, a digression which--in keeping with her narrative to incorporate elements of Seligman's spartan apartment into her chapter titles--leads her to, in her eyes, the true beginning of her downfall. And while her admission of "chapter breaks" in her story is present before, here Joe openly acknowledges that her story--or series of stories--is a tale starring "Joe the nymphomaniac", and she is a character in her own tale, be it fact or fiction--or a combination--only Joe knows. And just as in the beginning of Volume I, her chapter begins with a long span of darkness, although sounds can be heard. This is how we establish the story in our imaginations, visualizing what others recall and we picture in our mind's eye. Although previously identified that neither Seligman nor Joe claim to be religious, Seligman is knowledgeable about religious iconography and symbolism. So when Joe relates to him her vision she experienced upon her first orgasm at the age of twelve, one which she describes--and Seligman identifies--as the Whore of Babylon and Valeria Messalina, it becomes clear that Joe's image of herself is one of a woman with an inherent affinity for original sin...the devil's concubine. This is an image which only feeds into her potential desire for Seligman to see her as a being unworthy of love, and only fit for abuse, one he seems determined to exorcise from her mind by rational dismissals of her proclamations at being sinful. During this vision, Joe (Ananya Berg) is laying in a meadow, surrounded by nature; it is a shot unmistakably like one featured in Lars von Trier's own Antichrist, as well as being similar to the "Ophelia shot" in his Melancholia--both of which make up the director's so-called "depression trilogy" alongside Nymphomaniac. These images portray woman and nature unified...or perhaps it is of woman engulfed by nature; it is her abode and her cage, both. Lars von Trier continues his own self-reflexiveness as a filmmaker in a scene where Joe and Jerôme's (Shia LaBoeuf) toddler son, Marcel, climbs out onto the balcony, unattended by his mother, in a scene virtually identical to the opening of Antichrist; there is even the musical accompaniment of "Lascia ch'io pianga" by Handel, as well.
After Joe describes her experience of an encounter with two black men--whom she refers to as "negros"--Seligman chastises her for using a politically incorrect choice of words. Joe's response is to retort that censorship and the reproach wielded against those who "mean right but speak wrong" is a kind of fascism, but simultaneously asserts that those who employ such means are too stupid to appreciate the democratic government established to serve them. Her candor might be more palatable, save for her sardonic world view which colors her spectrum. This exchange is one of the first to follow of disagreements about social issues between Seligman and Joe, neither of which would be regarded as conservative by any means, but astute enough to see the underpinnings of the other's stance and the inherent shortcomings of it as well. Following one chapter of Joe's story, we return to see Joe standing by the window, and Seligman seated on the bed, their positions reversed as the roles of man and woman sometimes are in the story. As Joe has made mention of a style of knot used called a "Prusik Knot", Seligman relates a story about its inception, that a mountain climber developed it to save himself from death. Joe snidely bites back that this digression of his is his weakest yet, because for her, the idea of the knot and its significance in the story has more to do with her path of destruction, and Seligman only observes the superficial elements of her tale, not the deeper meaning. Sometimes their attitudes get reversed, and like any serious discussion about serious issues, there is bound to be the inevitable disagreement, even an argument. The issue of women's rights regarding pregnancy remains one of the most heated of hot-button social issues in politics today. It is a subject where virtually everyone has an opinion, and one which frequently escalates into arguments driven by emotion. It is, by nature, a problem which divides men and women, as well as for other reasons. That said, Joe's choice to abort her second child is followed by scenes of her mandatory consultation--one she vehemently rages against--which follows in the manner of arguments about abortion in a kernel, moments which are astute in projecting either side of the argument as "valid", but impossible to wholly remove from the interminable subjectivity of the topic, like the issue itself. There is a compelling dialectic between Seligman and Joe following her harrowing account of the self-administered procedure, one which is fundamentally a commentary both pointed and provocative. It exposes inner truths about them both--just as these arguments can do in reality--and cuts through the facade they otherwise have borne during the film. Frankly, it is the single best discussion of the topic put to film.
When sex no longer thrills Joe, she turns to masochism to try to reboot her libido. Rather than seek medical aid, she goes to a different kind of clinician, one she seeks to abuse her in a fashion like punishment. For Joe, the initial session is terrifying. It's not as though she hasn't been in humiliating scenarios before, but this clandestine arrangement with "K" (Jamie Bell) is one where she is conscious of the fact that she has no real power, and having been accustomed to this with her previous lovers, this lack of control is the fear she finds so unfamiliar. In keeping with sadomasochism, there is the sense that Joe craves the presence of her father (Christian Slater) in her life again. K's ministrations are a discipline--more severe than any kind of spanking, however--which she believes she deserves because she has been "bad" for so long, and needs the closure she subconsciously hopes to find in the process. Even K's story about the blood knot is reminiscent of her father telling her the tale of the ash tree as a child. Over the years, Joe's addiction results in her abandonment by Jerôme, who takes her son far from her reach, her only contribution to his upbringing via an anonymous trust fund. As her tenuous grasp to maintain some semblance of normalcy crumbles in her workplace, she is commanded to attend group therapy for her condition. It is here where Joe not only confronts the reality of her addiction, but also one of self-assessment; the chapter is aptly titled "The Mirror". Joe recalls how the group's existence--and a hypocritical society's means to reduce a problem--was to feign interest in helping the individual, when in fact it is only really interested in containing the problem that is the individual in the context of normalcy. This means of containment is exercised in sterile behaviors, such as promoting exclusive word choice, maintaining a bureaucratic kind of control over the self, which Joe recognizes and breaks through not by means of submission, but in keeping with her inner fire, by rebellion, even if it is one which means a continued progression down the path of self-destruction.
As the veils are torn away, Joe invariably turns to crime--debt collection (read: extortion)--utilizing her "skillset" acquired over the years, now committed to her own willingness to tread into darkness. (I find it interesting that all of her victims are men; yes, victims.) In a way, Seligman is a kind of victim for her own brand of extortion. In Volume I, a younger Joe (Stacy Martin) recalls how she told men how she enjoyed her first orgasm with each one of them; in Volume II, she entraps a debtor (Jean-Marc Barr) into divulging his secret perversion by telling a story about a boy on a playground. Joe tells stories to get men to behave a certain way; that's what she does, and the evidence shows she does it well. Why should Seligman be any different? And after finding success in her criminal profession, Joe is convinced by her underworld promoter, "L" (Willem Dafoe), to survey a prospective protege, a young girl called "P" (Mia Goth). P invariably reminds Joe of herself: vulnerable, lonely, possessed of a dark side. Although their relationship begins as a benign mentorship, it develops into a love affair, a way for Joe to rediscover herself, a means to reconnect with her own disenfranchised youth, lost to her rampant sexuality now restricted to a self-destructive form of self-gratification. This also serves as yet another method for Joe to revisit her memories of her father, since her relationship with P is both one of a parental and an erotic perspective. This all changes following a key betrayal, which revokes any doubt she had that love is a lie, and strips away the one last veil of humanity left following her discovery up on the mountain. In Joe's world, sentimentality and love are the only true vices, the crippling weaknesses which leave her unable to be true to herself, undermining her indomitable fire. And, of course, in the end, the cynical lesson remains that no amount of moralizing, preaching, proselytizing, or confessions can really overcome the simple, basic truths about human nature, no matter how much you think you know someone, you can only know yourself.
Recommended for: Fans of a complex character study, not just of Joe but also of her witness, Seligman. Their discourse is a fine example of how people begin to let someone in following a revelation about themselves. It is a characteristic shared when people become friends, and when people engage in a confidence game, both. It is also a riveting and shockingly frank tale of sex, violence, and even acceptance.