The Horror Honeys: 'Bitter Moon': 50 Shades of Blech.

'Bitter Moon': 50 Shades of Blech.

This poster is so UTTERLY deceiving.
I can't even.
A Revenge Honey Erotic Thriller November Review with Linnie

Bitter Moon (1992)

Sometimes, you make a snap judgment and come to regret it pretty soon thereafter. You see something, and you think, "Dear sweet baby Cthulhu, this is the most disgusting, awful thing I have ever, or could ever, see." I made this assumption about Basic Instinct 2: Risk Addiction. I was hasty. Because I hadn't yet watched Roman Polanski's Bitter Moon.

Bitter Moon is the most disgusting, awful thing I have ever, or could ever, see.

Let's start right off with the elephant in the room. Roman Polanski is a creepy, sleezy, gross bastard. We all know this. Some people like to give him a pass for his character faults because he makes excellent movies. I am not that person. Rosemary's Baby is one of my favorite movies but it's the exception to the rule. I can't separate the art from the artist and I'm fine with that. But right off, Bitter Moon is laced, top to bottom, with the most obvious allegories for Polanski's own predilections for young girls, that I spent the bulk of the film cringing, as my skin crawled, or occasionally full-on gagged. Before we move on to the plot, let this quote from the film roll around in your head for a moment:

"There was a freshness and innocence about her, an almost disconcerting blend of sexual maturity and childish naiveté that touched my world-weary heart... and effaced the age difference between us."

Now enjoy this visual. That's Polanski's WIFE.
The Story: Mild-mannered English couple Nigel (Hugh Grant) and Fiona (Kristen Scott Thomas) are on a cruise to India, where they meet Mimi (Emmanuelle Seigner) and Oscar (Peter Coyote), the two most fucked up people on the planet. Oscar is in a wheelchair, because Mimi put him there. Nigel wants to fuck Mimi, but Oscar won't let him until Nigel sits through the entire fucked up story of his and Mimi's fucked relationship. As a result, we as an audience are subjected to not one, but TWO, storylines involving two of the most obnoxious people on the planet, and their gross sexual escapades.

That's Peter Coyote in a pig mask, being whipped. Welcome to my hell.
Now, JUST TO BE CLEAR, this isn't a judgment on fetishes or personal sexual preferences. This is a judgment on making me watch Peter Coyote crawl around the floor wearing a thong and pig mask while a woman styled to look like a teenager smacks him. Bitter Moon could NOT be more miscast if Polanski had just thrown darts at a phone book and hired Seattle's Richard Sackmuncher to play the role of Oscar (joke copyright Liz Lemon, 2009). It's just repulsive, and erotic thrillers aren't meant to be repulsive, they're meant to be EROTIC GODDAMNIT.

Things that aren't erotic: Hugh Grant.
We have to return to the fact that this whole fucking film is one giant masturbatory exercise for Polanski to justify the fact that he began boning his wife, Emmanuelle Seigner, when she was 20 (if she was a day) and he was 53. Throughout the entire film, and until the absolute LAST possible minutes, Seigner is dressed and made up like teen and behaves like a teen, because Mimi IS a teen. Just because Polanski never specifies her age, doesn't mean we don't get the point. I don't need to waste two hours of my life listening to a pedophile justify the fact he's a pedophile.

“Nothing ever surpassed the rapture of that first awakening. I might have been Adam with the taste of apple fresh in my mouth. I was looking at all the beauty in the world embodied in a single female form and I knew, with sudden blinding certainty... this was it. We didn't leave the apartment for three whole days after that. We were inseparable by day and insatiable by night. Just lived on love and stale croissants. She chucked her job. I couldn't bear to part with her.”

Of COURSE there is a sapphic scene. Just in case.
Bitter Moon is a strange sort of movie-watching experience: one in which you are laughing hysterically one minute, and reaching for a vomit bag the next. But one thing is for damn sure... 

No one better EVER drink buttermilk in front of me again.

Throughout Erotic Thriller month, we are going to be working on a far more stringent rating scale than usual. That means that if I REALLY like a film, it will probably get a three star rating. If I love a film, four stars. If I want to take a movie behind the middle school and get it pregnant, that's a five star rating right there. So with that in mind, Bitter Moon gets:

Erotic Thriller Rating: A bill for the taxi I had to pay for when my vagina packed its bags and moved out after watching this movie.

Bitter Moon can suck a snail off the sidewalk. I'm not telling you where to find it.

Have you suffered the indignity of this crap?
Tell me on Twitter: @linnieloowho