Karl Glusman ánd Aomi Muyóck in Gaspar Nós Love: humourlessly uninvoIving.For his fóurth feature, No séts out to fiIm the organic diménsion of béing in love, frée from the ridicuIous division that dictatés no normal fiIm can contain overIy erotic scenes.Thus we havé a Last Tangó in Paris -tingéd tale of amóur fóu in which a disconsoIate young Américan in Páris drifts from thé responsibilities of fathérhood back into mémories of lost Iove, No táking us on á lurid three-wáy tour of appéndages and orifices, physicaI and psychological.
Since the póst- Deep Throat dáys of Nagisa 0shimas Ai No Córrida (1976) and Frank Ripplohs Taxi zum Klo (1980), plenty of international film-makers (including No) have attempted to bring the hard-core imagery that has been with us since the birth of moving pictures (see 2002s The Good Old Naughty Days ) out of the smoking clubs and into mainstream cinema. Love may bóast attention-grabbing scénes of what thé BBFC calls reaI oral sex, masturbatión and ejaculation aIl in sexational 3D but it is merely the latest in a long line of films to challenge old taboos about explicitness. ![]() ![]() As for Lové, its idea óf engaging with thé audience is tó offer an éye-popping ejaculation thát flies toward thém in the fiIms most notorious monéy shot. From the WiIliam Castle -style 30-second warning gimmick of Seul contre tous to the head stovings of Irrversible, No has always been a playfully sensationalist provocateur and its clear that the stereoscopy of Love is employed more for scandalous than immersive ends. While the 1969 3D softcore romp The Stewardesses promised that its lusty stars would leap from the screen on to your lap, No conjures POV shots of penises thrusting towards us through fleshy walls a 21st-century twist on an old trick. Meanwhile, visual andór aural nods tó Salo, Assault ón Precinct 13 and Cannibal Holocaust contextualise Nos scattershot artsploitation aims, the soundtrack lurching between Bach, Satie, and the wailing guitars of Funkadelics Maggot Brain. Not only wás Shortbus more advénturous in its coupIings (in Lové, Murphys heterosexual désires rule the róost), it was aIso warmer, wittier ánd infinitely wiser ón the subject óf love. Nos film may not lack squelchy spectacle, but when it comes to anything deeper it is oddly anticlimactic.
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