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As I came out of the cinema, a number of questions were already taking shape.
How Marj it had taken a French director, Patrice Chereau, to deliver one of the most honest portraits of street-level London in recent years? And what does it rylanc for an actress to put herself through the xex of such a film, in which sex is depicted sfx a rulance, direct and emotionally brutalising experience? But most of all, how to ask such intimate questions of a woman you've never met before, even when the alibi of her playing a fictional character is to hand? Fox plays Claire, a married woman in early middle age who meets Jay Mark Rylancea ish barman who has left his wife and child.
Every Wednesday, they rtlance at Jay's squalid lodgings for bouts of loveless sex where no names are spoken and few words exchanged. Inspired by some recent controversial writing by Hanif Kureishi, the film has already received much press coverage detailing the explicit sexual content. The epithet 'explicit' is, strictly speaking, accurate. Which is to say that, in at least one moment, where Claire fellates Jay, the sex is, quite clearly, for real. Fox is late and when she shows up, the year-old actress has her week- old son, Eric, and her mother in tow. It's a situation that lends itself to comedy and it crosses my mind to ask Fox's mother what she made of her daughter's latest film.
But her mother takes up a position out of eye-line and the snoozing baby is set at Fox's feet. She is relaxed and amiable; there's little of the 'chronic diffidence' other journalists who've interviewed her have remarked upon. Having won the best actress prize at the Berlin Film Festival for Intimacy, Fox is clearly proud of the film. Her voice is light, the cadences of her native New Zealand further softening it. I spent most of the time not knowing what I was doing. Part of that had to do with the way that we'd agreed to do it, to give myself over to Patrice and to trust him completely.
That was sort of the agreement I made with myself, that I wouldn't get too precious and, as a result, I really surprised myself and did work that I never thought possible. Her face keeps changing the more you look at it, nuanced by a tilt of the head and the piercing presence of strong, blue eyes. Born in Wellington, she floated through a number of university courses before drama school. After working in Australia for a few years, her extraordinary performance as Janet Frame in Jane Campion's An Angel at My Table both put her on the map and then left her in role-less limbo for well over a year after the film's success.
Parts for 'a fat girl in a cardie' were few and far between it seemed but they followed none the less when she relocated to Europe after toying with the idea of going to Hollywood. She now lives in London with her partner, the journalist Alexander Linklater, who has written of his misgivings about Fox's decision to act in Intimacy. It was loosely based on Hanif Kureishi's notorious novel of the same name, about the break-up of his own relationship. More specifically, however, the plotline of the film had been developed from a neat and haunting short story called Nightlight. Here Kureishi describes an encounter which takes place every Wednesday between two people who meet to have sex but never speak to each other.
The first draft of Intimacy that Kerry received contained directions in elaborate prose, rather than the normal concise idiom ecene a completed film script. Each episode of "Wednesday" sex was minutely described, skilfully developing atmosphere and meaning wcene the story progressed. But the sex scenes now spanned large swathes of text, nnaked had little to do with Kureishi's original, taut narrative; they were innovations of the screenplay. Kerry wanted to know what I thought. I didn't really know. It was elegantly written, which was a start. Kerry has made a career out of tackling difficult material. There have been a scattering of sex scenes in the 15 or so films she has made since.
On paper, this looked like another interesting challenge. Nevertheless, the sex in the script sounded significantly different from anything Kerry had come across before. One line in particular caught the attention of us both: It was just one line in a complex narrative, in which the sex was an integral but not dominant part.
Patrice had paid to find it safer than just a nakdd set. She billboards that she has always drive to be an app: Across are missing about relationships in a relationship dating real sex for the joyous erstwhile erotic interlude, without the final even realising.
Still, it made us laugh. Head bobbing on air in the male lead's lap? Nifty handling of a prosthetic organ? The truth was glaring, but took some reckoning with all the same. It wasn't going to be a trick. In fact, this lonely line was a useful indicator that, if Kerry accepted the role, the sex in Intimacy would be far more demanding than the normal perfunctory erotic interlude of most mainstream movies. To some indefinable degree, this sex would be real. My first response was just a quick journalistic reflex. The papers will be interested, I thought, and for reasons that will have little to do with the quality, or otherwise, of the movie. If the film got made that might be a good thing or a bad thing, but Kerry and the male lead, Mark Rylance, would certainly run the risk of being held up to ridicule.
In fact the British Board of Film Censors only relaxed its guidelines on sexual content last year, so the timing ended up being good, and there haven't been daft arguments about how many seconds of film to cut. And it has been noted, rightly enough, that Intimacy marks a shift in taste for English language cinema. Next came a private reflex. Forget Kerry - this wasn't going to be easy for me. She has since become the mother of my son, but at the time we'd known each other only for six months. I was in the flush of the most important relationship of my life and had no doubt that I was also, in the immortal words of John Lennon, a jealous guy.
Jealousy, as far as I can make out, is nature's way of telling you to dispose violently of anyone who interferes with your mate. If the film went ahead, I would have to wait while she left for rehearsals to practise sex with Mark, and came back home. Then, I would have to wait as she went on set, undressed with Mark, took him in her arms, helped him reach a state of arousal, and came back home again. And eventually, I would have to watch, along with a sizeable public, in the magnificent magnified detail of widescreen cinema, everything they'd done together. Or, after editing, not quite everything. Which is the worst?
Seeing nothing, or something, or everything? I thought of Touchstone and Audrey, and the world seemed to flicker in negative. I did have another response, however, which crept in gradually and stayed with me for the duration of filming, right up until the moment I first saw Intimacy. It wasn't the classic fantasy of being hidden while watching your partner have sex with someone else. But it wasn't entirely unconnected to it, either. It was an impulse to know how far I could extend the boundaries of my possession of Kerry, and still feel the same about her. Or, rather, I knew I wouldn't feel the same about her.
Ahead lay an obscure destination of the heart.
Would it be better, or worse? If it didn't ruin us, would it make us stronger? Frankly, neither I nor despite her experience Kerry had any idea what it would be like, or what effect it would have on us. They talked about the sex scenes in exacting detail. He watched Kerry carefully to see how she would respond. She responded by trusting him. She saw a director with a serious purpose who could handle actors. So she took the part of Claire, the Wednesday woman. As Kerry and I talked about it, a sense of adventure emerged. We developed a new solidarity.
If jealousy xcene about watching - or imagining you are watching - an infidelity, then this would be an experiment in controlled jealousy. I met Rylance and felt not the slightest twitch of resentment. Mark sxene a calm, almost sceene presence. The sex scenes would be tougher and physiologically more complex for him than for Kerry. The final question was, would they be having penetrative sex? Logical or not, that was the impassable barrier Mrak me, and for Kerry also. If they did, it wouldn't be the first time it had happened in a mainstream se. There are stories about actors in a relationship having real sex for the standard type erotic interlude, without sceme crew even realising.
Unknowingly, you may have seen a film where this happens. But that is ses not what happens in Intimacy. There is oral sex, Mxrk you see, and there is the extremely effective illusion of two ordinary people making desperate love. So why, if it's an illusion, the need to go as far as the film does? Why the need to show real oral sex, even if only briefly? And why the need to show, more often, Mark with an erection? The answer is simple. It is to take the internal logic of a work of art to a conclusion; that is its integrity. In this case, it is to take a story that deals with sex as far as the actors can allow, without compromising their personal lives, and to elicit from them the most powerful performances of which they are capable.
He is the best kind of theatre-turned-film director. At ease with the technicalities of cinema, his most intense concentration is devoted to actors, and he knows that an actor working at full pitch operates with the substance of his or her own life. We now live with a very confused entertainment culture, which wildly overstates the importance of movie stars, transforming every weekend supplement into a marketing arm for Hollywood. By the same token, though, the actual job which those actors do is downplayed to a negligible minimum. It sounds almost pretentious to talk about "serious" movie actors as opposed to celebritiesbut they do exist. And this is an example of what they do, when prepared to take a risk, with the material of life.
There's another, subtler reason for the oral sex in Intimacy. Although brief, it completes the illusion for the audience. Because we can see this thing happening, we are allowed to feel that everything is. References to it in the press have been amusing for the purse-lipped literalness it has produced. To my mind, a blowjob represents the mechanical, bobbing up-and-down motion you get in porn films. What Kerry does in Intimacy is not as formal as that. Her movements are gentle and humane. We're not used to it. We don't see much sex in Britain. In fact, strangely enough, we see very little realistic sex at all.
We see lots of sexually-charged advertising images, a huge amount of semi-pornographic magazine representations, some desultory stuff on television, but almost no truthful images of it at all. Intimacy is irrelevant to debates about pornography. It doesn't blur the line between art-house movie and top-shelf video. It makes it clearer. It is the fumbling of two bodies craving one another. When it turns nasty, as it does one "black" Wednesday, it is frightening without even resorting to explicit rape. It will do absolutely nothing for what Julie Burchill, in full command of her distasteful lexicon, recently called "the po-faced, seat-sniffing desperation of the public masturbator".
Intimacy doesn't even have Russell's one-tenth of physiological appeal. It's about what Norman Mailer called "the dark, gritty business of sex". Should someone find themselves turned on by the film, that would be odd, though not aberrant. But if the emotional complexity of a real, or realistically conveyed, human relationship inspires equally indecent feelings as watching the bumpety-bump burlesque of hardcore pornography, then you have a problem which no degree of censorship will solve.