Theodora Rapp Graham

There is a brilliance about the torturous journey this unlikely/likely couple undertake to tell the truth about how first she perceives and has experienced him and in turn how he perceives himself and then her. The woman, feeling largely dismissed by him with regard to his highly successful film during the party after its debut showing, gradually unravels in agonizing blurts then rants. He starts out not responding to her but to the remarks of the White woman critic he despises, first at the party and then her review that is published online as they spar. His high, her low. And the pattern of back/forth continues until they rip each other down to bare psyches. The sexual tension/attraction between them is palpable, as is the love that almost doesn’t survive this brutal, unpredictable battle. About 3/4 was through, I was ready to give up watching, agonized by the hurt they were causing each other. But the momentum of the drama kept me engaged if on edge, not wanting to see them totally crash. This is not unlike a Bergman film, more European than American. A Sartre play like “No Exit” or Albee’s “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” Each one offers the viewer an agonizing, yet compelling eavesdropping on other people’s agonies. The actors are both excellent, ones I want to see again—in other roles that reveal their extensive talents. Did I love the film—dramatically/or cinematographically? No. But I was moved, equally agonized, stunned by how the screen writer built in nuance and surprise just at those times when the drama between the two seemed ready to go over the top. Did the man have to end up secondary? I honestly don’t think so. But he adores her.