Bitter Moon manages to tantalise and tease us without ever coming across as explicit nor exploitative. Its study of relationships, and one relationship in particular, manages to cover some pretty far-reaching ground and comes complete with a lot of different sorts of content; but the film always keeps its eye on how these instances, and the nature of the relationship, shape the persons engaging. If we are excited, we are to be excited at the film-making skills of a certain Roman Polanski and how he unfolds this narrative, and not at what these people go through in order to become the people we see on screen.
In the broader sense of things, Bitter Moon is a really straight forward tale of two people meeting one other; getting to know one another and advancing things further and further to the point that they become sick of the sight of one other. But it is this premise stretched out to a time that most other directors would have a hard time keeping to in maintaining both audience interest and study. It is this premise that is actually used as a platform of greater things, something that allows a certain fascination in third parties initially unaware, but also gets across a certain sense of well-being. It feels as if Polanksi, through the characters of Nigel (Grant) and Fiona (Scott Thomas) whom have been happily married for so long, is trying to say that you should be thankful for what you've got and going bigger and better because your impulses demand you do, isn't always necessary.
Power play seems to be a primary ingredient in Bitter Moon; in what is an interesting concoction of romance, tragedy, noir and some scenes of both sheer horror and terror. The film is narrated from the confines of a cruise ship in the Mediterranean, bound for Turkey, by an American paraplegic named Oscar (Coyote). Whatever beginnings of being in control of a situation or a person seems to stem from his conversations with Hugh Grant's Nigel. Over time, Nigel will become more and more intrigued by what it is Oscar has to say about a certain carefree dancer on the boat named Mimi (Seigner), who is linked to Oscar in more ways than is first apparent.
But it isn't just this acquaintance as a relationship that Bitter Moon touches on, it breaks away from its primary strand of two people going through a love-fuelled grinder of friendship and fondness by providing us with enough material revolving around Nigel and Fiona's marriage which is threatened by the presence of Oscar and Mimi. It also looks at the notion of temptation, and a notion that one can become more and more intrigued about something as they spend time away from it, but hear, by way of word of mouth, as much as possible about said item. This is most apparent when Nigel spends more time with Oscar and hears of his deconstructing of Mimi as he delves into the past.
Mimi and Oscar's relationship encompasses most things; from BDSM to urolagnia and right the on way through to the notion of knowing your once female lover, now full time carer, is in the room next door with another man; keeping you in a sort of cuckolded state of helplessness. But rather than demonise these interests, fetishes or notions; Bitter Moon gets across a state of wrong-doing, a sense that the repercussions of these activities when used despairingly can bring about ill-fated results, confusion and can form cracks within the relationship.
If the audience are placed within the body of Nigel as this relatively clean-cut and seemingly perfectly innocent individual, then it is for the purpose of hearing Oscar's story unfold. About a quarter of the way through the piece, Mimi herself tells us, or Nigel, that Oscar is prone to making things up half the time anyway. Our minds are wary when we think back to an early chapter in their story when Oscar and Mimi bask in front of a glowing log fire whilst inhabiting an apartment in Paris, one that encompasses a perfect view of the Eiffel Tower as it stands there, not so far away in that you cannot see it, but not directly on it's front door step.
That's not to say anything else Oscar says in untrue; in every sense of the term, we are sucked into his world; his world that he used to be the boss of; his world in which he was the writer, the creator and the would-be brains behind everything. His world, in which he would submit to the presence of Mimi purely to feed a curiosity and because he was able to, but would later find himself on the other foot when she submits to him; his world, in which ego driven positions of power were exploited and the phrase 'what goes around, comes around' didn't exist – not least, until now. The film is an interesting piece, an intimate character and scenario study unfolding within the intimate and closed in space of a boat and its cabins, just as the new year beckons and new chapters threaten to begin just as ominously as they threaten to end.
In the broader sense of things, Bitter Moon is a really straight forward tale of two people meeting one other; getting to know one another and advancing things further and further to the point that they become sick of the sight of one other. But it is this premise stretched out to a time that most other directors would have a hard time keeping to in maintaining both audience interest and study. It is this premise that is actually used as a platform of greater things, something that allows a certain fascination in third parties initially unaware, but also gets across a certain sense of well-being. It feels as if Polanksi, through the characters of Nigel (Grant) and Fiona (Scott Thomas) whom have been happily married for so long, is trying to say that you should be thankful for what you've got and going bigger and better because your impulses demand you do, isn't always necessary.
Power play seems to be a primary ingredient in Bitter Moon; in what is an interesting concoction of romance, tragedy, noir and some scenes of both sheer horror and terror. The film is narrated from the confines of a cruise ship in the Mediterranean, bound for Turkey, by an American paraplegic named Oscar (Coyote). Whatever beginnings of being in control of a situation or a person seems to stem from his conversations with Hugh Grant's Nigel. Over time, Nigel will become more and more intrigued by what it is Oscar has to say about a certain carefree dancer on the boat named Mimi (Seigner), who is linked to Oscar in more ways than is first apparent.
But it isn't just this acquaintance as a relationship that Bitter Moon touches on, it breaks away from its primary strand of two people going through a love-fuelled grinder of friendship and fondness by providing us with enough material revolving around Nigel and Fiona's marriage which is threatened by the presence of Oscar and Mimi. It also looks at the notion of temptation, and a notion that one can become more and more intrigued about something as they spend time away from it, but hear, by way of word of mouth, as much as possible about said item. This is most apparent when Nigel spends more time with Oscar and hears of his deconstructing of Mimi as he delves into the past.
Mimi and Oscar's relationship encompasses most things; from BDSM to urolagnia and right the on way through to the notion of knowing your once female lover, now full time carer, is in the room next door with another man; keeping you in a sort of cuckolded state of helplessness. But rather than demonise these interests, fetishes or notions; Bitter Moon gets across a state of wrong-doing, a sense that the repercussions of these activities when used despairingly can bring about ill-fated results, confusion and can form cracks within the relationship.
If the audience are placed within the body of Nigel as this relatively clean-cut and seemingly perfectly innocent individual, then it is for the purpose of hearing Oscar's story unfold. About a quarter of the way through the piece, Mimi herself tells us, or Nigel, that Oscar is prone to making things up half the time anyway. Our minds are wary when we think back to an early chapter in their story when Oscar and Mimi bask in front of a glowing log fire whilst inhabiting an apartment in Paris, one that encompasses a perfect view of the Eiffel Tower as it stands there, not so far away in that you cannot see it, but not directly on it's front door step.
That's not to say anything else Oscar says in untrue; in every sense of the term, we are sucked into his world; his world that he used to be the boss of; his world in which he was the writer, the creator and the would-be brains behind everything. His world, in which he would submit to the presence of Mimi purely to feed a curiosity and because he was able to, but would later find himself on the other foot when she submits to him; his world, in which ego driven positions of power were exploited and the phrase 'what goes around, comes around' didn't exist – not least, until now. The film is an interesting piece, an intimate character and scenario study unfolding within the intimate and closed in space of a boat and its cabins, just as the new year beckons and new chapters threaten to begin just as ominously as they threaten to end.