An excellent use of puffy sleeves.

Every year, there’s a critically acclaimed film that makes you question just how the critics glossed over all of its absurdity. This year, it’s Poor Things. The film pairs Victorian dark horror with steampunk, adapted by screenwriter Tony McNamara from the 1992 novel by Alasdair Gray and directed by Yorgos Lanthimos. It draws on the story of a suicidal woman who throws herself off a bridge, only to get dragged out by a Dr.Frankenstein-esque “God” (William Dafoe). He replaces her brain with the brain of her unborn fetus, turning her into an obnoxious new walk of life, otherwise known as Bella Baxter (Emma Stone).

The first act was grand; the concepts were fascinating and it was really onto a promising start of building something special in this whacky contorted world. Except Yorgos got in his own way and 1.5 hours of perverted sex scenes turned Poor Things into a Porno. It’s disappointing that a director with as striking a portfolio as Yorgos has, felt the need to adhere to the cheap cop-out of “sex sells”. It’s superficial and merely intended for the male gaze while trying to pin “liberation” and “feminism” on Bella’s revelatory moment: becoming a prostitute. And there you have it, she’s a feminist! Oh, how magical!

The sex scenes soon become tiresome, little is left to the imagination and all intrigue is lost, which the film set up so well in its first act. It then loses you emotionally. It’s trying so hard to make a point by being sexually provocative when it just really isn’t. That’s just what it wants to be. It’s just a textbook case of yet another male director whacking out his take on feminism. It’s supposed to portray female liberation but the final product is a degradation of the young female lead. Morally, the lack of consent from someone who has the brain of a toddler was also disturbing.

Subtlety could have worked a treat in Poor Things; instead there is a running commentary of explaining its intentions and themes out loud which makes for lazy screenwriting. At least 40 minutes could have been cut from the final edit, the sex scenes became more overstuffed than the turkey at Christmas. And, without its aesthetic, it’s empty. And a pretty dolls house aesthetic can’t carry a failed plot. Poor Things often felt like Bella Baxter; an experiment. And yet, while fascinating to look at, it never quite reaches the heart.

Forgetting the 101 CGI sunsets, there’s a lot about Poor Things that’s interesting – from its enchanting score, to the use of B&W vs colour, to fearless acting from all involved. This was Mark Ruffalo’s best performance in years – anyone would think he was in Grand Budapest hotel with that campy ego – he’s having one hell of a time. Emma Stone is mad as a hatter, her frolicking antics include: punching a baby, smashing everything in the home, and inserting all kinds of objects into her vagina. Until she is suddenly nude in every scene. It can only be assumed that the category she’ll be nominated for this year is “Best Actress in a porno”. Definitely a career all-time low for Stone.

Not for the faint of heart, Poor Things is regrettably all style, no substance, aside from 1.5 hours of disturbing sex scenes. While its buzzing art direction and costume design are stunning to look at, its confused direction and surface-level exploration of themes make you also want to smash china on the floor. There’s nothing new to say, nor is it daring or provocative. It’s not quite the feminist discovery of livelihood it thinks it is.