Dir. Penny Woolcock, 2003, UK, 108 mins
Cast:
Alec Newman, Marc Warren, Sienna Guillory, Lara Clifton
To call Penny Woolcock's first feature, The Principles of Lust, 'frank' is a huge understatement. This is a film that encapsulates its subject matter - desire, sex, bare-knuckle boxing - and mirrors the experiences of its characters. As a result it is extreme, violent, features graphic - graphic - sex and yet is funny whilst it is stomach-churning and as remarkable as it is revolting.
Unemployed writer Paul (Newman) discovers the first principle of lust - that any relationship is more intense, vital and charged in its early stages - when he meets Juliette (Guillory) at an art gallery. They go onto a dull party at a friend's house, which Paul brings to a standstill when he makes a rather public move on Juliette. Their first night together is bloody and primeval; the first flush of romance carries on like a drunken overspill to the next day, and into the following weeks.
Meanwhile, Paul has also met the sinister, slightly deranged Billy (Warren), who runs into his car and then confesses to not having insurance. As recompense, he buys Paul a drink in a strip club where Billy's girlfriend Hole (Clifton) performs (and also, quite literally for the viewer, lives up to her name!).
It is Billy who tells Paul about the first principle of lust - that the momentum of first lust just can't last. Billy's whole existence as a thrill-seeker serves to emphasise the second principle, that the hunger must be fed and often demands more and more extreme experiences.
From the strip club, Paul's friendship with Billy climbs to chemical highs and frenzied raves, and then descends into the horrific depths of bare-knuckle boxing, where children rip each other to shreds and their fight manager pimps scream at them to annihilate the opposition. Unsurprisingly, these scenes are graphic and gruesome. When Paul tries to look away, sickened, Billy forces him to look. "Look!" he orders, "it's when you don't look that the nightmares come."
Running parallel to this dark existence, Paul and Juliette settle into increasing domesticity. Juliette's son Harry (a captivating performance from four year-old Alexander Popplewell) even starts to call Paul 'Daddy'. Juliette is the exact opposite of Billy. She's safe and controlled, despite her initial wildness.
Paul loves them both, but it makes him feel trapped. As the opening scene shows, he needs to break out of the glass enclosure. But does it need to be in the extreme way Billy prescribes?
Billy, a serpent in the garden if there ever was one, tells Paul there is no meaning without comparison - meaning Paul should play the field. Meanwhile, Billy plans to conquer Juliette himself. Not only does Billy try to cheat Paul of Juliette through a very sinister game of 'potlach' but it is also though his instigation that Paul and Juliette are launched on a tragic course over what should be a far more innocent game of scrabble.
Billy is a self-made man. That is, he is a carefully constructed palimpsest of lies, going so far as to borrow from George Bataille's autobiography. While he's dangerous and depraved, and somewhat reminiscent of the ultra violent protagonist in A Clockwork Orange, he is open to all experiences. He makes Paul - and us - look at all matter of unsavoury things, to see the unexplored, unstructured side of life.
Whether all of these things are subjects that need to be explored in such candour on screen is debatable; the hand-held shooting and verisimilitude only add to the uncomfortableness of some scenes. Then again, Billy hates the living death of comfortable, suburban existence. The comparison with Trainspotting is clear, particularly in the opening and closing voice-overs.
Shocking subject matter, but well-filmed and very well performed - and with a host of debut performances - this is a film that might be considered erotic or educational, or condemned as shocking and outrageous. Some may find it unpalatable - but that's not to say it shouldn't be seen.
Ruth Bushi
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