By Anna Merlan
By Lee Escobedo
By Alice Laussade
By Scott Reitz
By Claire Lawton
By Kiernan Maletsky
By Anna Merlan
David Cronenberg has a thing for body openings. His movies are, literally, full of holes. There's the botched surgery wound on Marilyn Chambers that bites and infects unsuspecting sexual partners in Rabid; the vaginal VCR in James Woods' chest where he plugs into tapes to experience ever more exotic porn in Videodrome; Genevieve Bujold's malformed uterus that inspires twin gynecologists Jeremy Irons to create torturous new examination devices in Dead Ringers; and the car-wreck injury that offers James Spader the opportunity to penetrate Holly Hunter's calf in Crash. Add to this hall of legendary orifices the moist, sensitive spinal punctures that transport Jennifer Jason Leigh and Jude Law into eXistenZ, the name of a genetically grown virtual-reality game and the title of Cronenberg's new feature.
In person, the Canadian writer-director is polite, almost hypnotically articulate. He rarely says an uninteresting thing, and is able to link religion and philosophy and technology and sexuality without stammering or restarting a thought. But he's not especially keen on elaborating why, in almost all of his movies, the conflict arises from what goes in or comes out of a traditional, traumatic, or wholly invented canal into the human body.
"Most of my movies are very bodycentric," he concedes. "Freud is a very nice mythology, but if you get into Freud, you're going to talk about sexual reversals and castration complex and Oedipus. I don't know that this (eXistenZ) connects much with the normal psychological understanding of orifices."
Actually, no one in the room mentioned Freud. And Cronenberg puts too fine a point on his statement about understanding orifices: Neither the surprisingly humorous eXistenZ nor any of his visceral, unemotional, and addictively watchable features connect at all with the normal psychological understanding of anything. This is precisely why they are so damned fascinating for some, and predictably pathological for others. eXistenZ, in which Leigh plays a world-famous computer programmer who must escape an underground cult of Christian realists with the help of shy bodyguard Law, has as its dripping, diseased heart the title game, which is pumped directly into the nervous system through an anus-like hole created at the base of the spine.
Another romper room for psychosexual speculation. Cronenberg himself says, "Certainly for a movie with no sex, there is a lot of sex in it." And watching everything from the oozing holes to the tawdry, plastic, scaled-down production values to Jennifer Jason Leigh's crimped hair, fuck-me pumps, and adult-film patter ("This thing looks ready for action," she coos, fingering Law's new socket right before she plugs him in), you think it's not just any sex, but the cold, virtual sex of pornography. The director doesn't like this analogy, either.
"I'm wary of the term 'pornography,'" he says, while allowing that he is a consumer of the stuff. "The word has been used for all kinds of political reasons to talk about the pornography of poverty and the pornography of racism. And once you start talking about that, what does it mean? It just means something that people don't like."
Good God, man! eXistenZ features characters who must bend over and be penetrated by a giant black gun ("I have a fear of penetration," a trembling Jude Law says to leering Willem Dafoe as he's leaning over a barrel; cue the wah-wah pedal). Fleshy tubes are, in turn, inserted that connect back to the central game unit, a genetic creature that looks like a giant, multi-bulbed clitoris and begins to writhe and gurgle when you run your finger over it. Jennifer Jason Leigh spends a lot of time running her fingers, quite lovingly, over it.
Cronenberg probably--and with justification--fears that an admission of porn influence in his films will be used against him in the court of journalistic sensationalism. But the inquiries are not intended to be pejorative. So he concedes that some of the dialogue has been lifted, with satirical intent, from dirty movies. Valiantly continuing the sex metaphor, he finally offers, "Why not go all the way and say, invent a couple new sex organs? It would be a new kind of body pleasure apart from reproduction. In a way I'm doing this in the movie by creating new sexual organs for game-playing. I'm having some fun with that, but serious fun, by observing that there are these new orifices, but all the old sexual habits are there."
There is the game-playing dimension to eXistenZ. When Leigh and Law, while on the lam from the Christian-realist terrorists, link up to that big noisy clitoris, they are sent to a virtual but three-dimensional world of superstores featuring even more advanced games; a farm where mutated amphibians are raised and harvested for the genetic material required to create the pearly, fleshy eXistenZ unit; and a Chinese restaurant where the special of the day is zealously guarded.
But reality has bled into virtual reality, or so it seems, because the Christian realists have invaded the game, searching for Leigh and Law. As the two leads attempt to negotiate their way through mysterious clues and hostile strangers using a creaky self-referencing game logic, eXistenZ develops a playful, perverse, deadpan tone that's like nothing on the multiplex's gazillion other screens. Not only do you not know who the adversaries in the game are, but you don't know what the rules are, much less what the object is.
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