In earlier viewings of 9 ½ Weeks, I didn’t consider it to be
a particularly great movie. This is possibly because the film's finale falls a
little flat. Watching an erotic 80s film through modern eyes can be a little
jarring, because it can feel like we’re possibly no longer at this point in the
conversation anymore. And yet I’ve always found Adrian Lyne’s film to be a
continuing fascination. There’s something so base about the film’s concept. A
man and a woman meet. They begin a courtship and soon start to explore
themselves physically. One individual pushes the other's limits so far that it
leads to an emotional breaking point. The explanation for this character’s
willingness to degrade the other still feels cheap. Yet fast-forward to 2015
and the release of 50 Shades of Grey, and the poignancy becomes more apparent.
In this recent rewatch of the film, there’s frustration at the abruptness
within the 9 ½ Weeks’ final exchange. This time, I believed earnestly in what
one character was doing. While an emotional immaturity with another is felt
with more starkness.
9 ½ Weeks is a psychological drama that plays out in a way
one would perhaps expect from an erotic feature from that decade. It’s a film
in which the emotional burden is weighed upon the female lead, while the
sexually aggressive male city trader seems to get off lightly. This is
something that feels more explicit in Lyne's Fatal Attraction, released a year
after 9 ½ Weeks. The sexual politics within the film never really allows a true
sense of liberation with Kim Basinger’s carnally naive Gallery owner. With a
sense of emotional punishment being felt for the character as Rourke’s John
Gray ups the ante of their sexual parlour games. Lyne’s treatment of Basinger
is well documented, with the director using psychological manipulation to
capture the heightened emotions he demanded from his lead actress. Using
tactics that no doubt would be more than frowned upon today. Lyne obtained the
results he wanted from Basinger via acts of cruelty. The type of production
malice that helped sow the seeds of films like this. Features seeped in sin and
shame. It’s difficult to shake off the
uglier side of films like this and, of course, The Last Tango in Paris, knowing
how the filmmakers pushed past the line with their female collaborators to gain
results.
The book that 9 ½ Weeks is based on is a much bleaker affair
in comparison to the film. Written by Austrian-American author Ingeborg Day,
the book was a semi-autobiographical novel published under the rather ordinary
nom de plume of Elizabeth McNeill. The memoir details a brief, sexually violent
relationship between an Art Gallery owner and a Wall Street stockbroker. What
starts as a passionate affair quickly descends into tragedy as the trader’s
demands start to escalate into brutal aggression. Starker turns are taken in
the book with scenes such as the gallery owner being painfully tied up within
her lover’s extravagant home and robbing a man at knifepoint under his orders.
In the novel, the story climaxes with the gallery owner enduring a nervous
breakdown and being sectioned in a mental hospital, never seeing the trader
again. 9 ½ Weeks is one of only two books Day wrote. The other was about her
father’s Nazi past. She never spoke publicly about 9 ½ Weeks.
The film adaptation of 9 ½ Weeks may be flawed, but it’s
safe to say that the rougher tone of the book would have been far harder to
display on the screen. In England, the book isn’t readily accessible in print
without some digging. However, reading about the novel on what could be found
on the internet displays a rather affecting piece. Something that doesn’t say
glossy Hollywood picture. Surprisingly, Lyne crafts something as
approachable as he does. His film is
often as playful as it is deceptive. Lyne is more than happy to feature scenes
of a lively, thriving, multicultural New York City. Basinger’s Elizabeth dines
in Italian eateries, shops at market stalls, and Chinatown meat markets. Her
bopping to Reggae music is beyond corny, but, along with her ethnic shopping,
also helps imply a curator that indulges in culture outside of her norm. It
helps you believe in her job, and it’s padding which builds a character with
far more depth than we’d perhaps like to believe. Basinger, in a breakthrough
role, sells her early scenes well, ensuring the later emotional sequences are
felt with a great sense of vulnerability.
When John is introduced, a sliver of intensity is added to the
proceedings. However, the stockbroker’s charm is enough to play their early
encounters off like a meet-cute. This rom-com vibe reoccurs in a later scene
when John and Elizabeth interact with some kids on the boardwalk.
But a sense of danger often looms on the edges of the
screen. Early on, while on a date, John takes Elizabeth to a nearby friend’s
house. As they stand in the bedroom, John gives the implication that Elizabeth
could be in danger of sexual assault. It’s a marked moment. One that more than
hints at John’s darker impulses. Another sequence featuring a fairground ride
also hints at some of John’s later indulgences. John asks the ride operator to
leave Elizabeth at the top of a Ferris wheel. It’s a situation that teeters
between fear, excitement, and a strong sense of control being abandoned.
Moments of jest or harmless pranks always feel like boundary testing in the
hands of John. The film, possibly unconsciously, illustrates the palpable sense
of anxiety felt by modern women. A sense that nothing is wholly playful. With
every situation being tinged with risk.
What becomes more concerning is when Elizabeth, clearly
shocked by the threat, does little to distance herself from John afterwards.
Already intoxicated by his allure, her attraction to him clouds her sense of
judgment. It’s here where the grey area emerges. It becomes clear that
Elizabeth is deeply attracted to how being with John allows her to vacate the
controlled, composed real life she usually inhabits. This is what makes the
film compelling. Female desire is so minimised on screen that when you see a film
which toys with the unspoken social boundaries of what’s expected of “what
women may want” in English-speaking films, it’s still quietly shocking. 9 ½
Weeks would join well with Jane Campion’s In the Cut (2003) or Looking for MrGoodbar (1977), with how much those films are unapologetic in their female
protagonists’ attraction to danger.
It is why the film’s most notable imitator, Fifty Shades of Grey (2015), pales in comparison to 9 ½ Weeks, even despite having near
identical characteristics. The story formulated by E.L. James is explicit yet
sanitised. Shade’s female protagonist is a docile and naïve cypher, for whom
any true interiority is lacking. Basinger’s Elizabeth is buttoned up and
repressed – she considers her friend gross for the possibility of her owning a
vibrator – but as a person, she has emotional depth. Fifty Shades as a franchise
enjoys the aesthetic pleasures of its simple sexual fantasies, but is
uninterested in establishing any emotional resonance, while the trilogy of
films wraps itself within a deeply unserious thriller plot, which removes any
real idea of the series making any sort of commentary on relationships at all.
One of the cardinal sins Fifty Shades makes is in its unfun
sexual sequences. It never once grasps that its protagonist is intoxicated by
her potentially dangerous partner. Nor does it give its male counterpart the
roughish charm which would make the relationship believable. But what’s far
worse is that Fifty shades never truly indulges the idea that Anastasia enjoys
any of Christian Grey’s particular interests. I won’t speak for everyone
regarding whether sex scenes are titillating or necessary, but I will say the
sex scenes in 9 ½ Weeks often look like a couple who are enjoying the intimacy
they share. For all the sexual equipment that litter Christen Grey’s red room,
for all the discussions about his sexual taste, Fifty Shades presents sex as
clinical and mechanical. It’s quite cynically “packaged”. Online arguments
about whether sex scenes should be in movies are appropriate here. Should we be
surprised that such scenes are viewed as “cringe” when these modern sex scenes
view people as superficially transactional? Sex in films like Fifty Shades is
rarely presented with the intimacy or emotional connection they claim to aspire
to. They mirror the viewpoints of modern dating, where people are determined by
their “value”. Fifty Shades is perhaps the most egregious example of modern
relationships where superficial status and value are seemingly deemed more
important than emotional resonance or actual chemistry. The most playful scene
in the first Fifty Shades film is a contract negotiation.
A lot of 9 ½ weeks’ eroticism is not only personable but
also centred around pleasures that feel more relatable as well as tangible.
They are also shot with a more convincing sense of sensuality of the activity
as the focus. Lyne’s time as an ad man really makes its mark here. He is
selling a good time. One of 9 ½ Weeks' most notable scenes involves a
blindfolded Elizabeth being fed various items of food by John. The
mischievousness of the scene is felt in its choice of shots, often framing
Elizabeth’s lips as different foodstuffs are placed in her mouth. The sequence
is shot mostly in close-up. The food is suggestively textured. With many of the
items having an element of messiness to them. There’s also a sense that
Elizabeth hasn’t a clue what might be given to her next. The Newbeats’ bouncy
hit ‘Bread and Butter’ is the mood music. Whatever Elizabeth is fed could be
sticky, sweet, sour, or spicy, but importantly, the scene makes simple sensory
pleasure sexy. They don’t have sex, but the scene sells the game as just as
enjoyable.
The other infamous scene involves Elizabeth stripping to Joe
Cocker’s ‘Leave Your Hat On’. Basinger’s raunchy strutting to the song is, in
no doubt, appealing to most red-blooded men. She gives it her all, and her
dancing ensures the scene never rings false. However, what makes the scene is
the reaction shots of Mickey Rourke. Looking like a naughty schoolboy, the
scene is effective because Rourke’s John’s expression jumps from bashful to
vulnerable, to impish, then back again. He doesn’t look at her like a leery
drunk at a strip club. He watches her like a man truly captivated by the woman
dancing in front of him. Things like these reaction shots pinpoint what so many
other films of its kind miss. The sex is there with them, but not the
sensitivity. There’s a sincerity here that is completely lost in other “sexy”
movies.
When John’s abusiveness is shown for what it is, the film
becomes problematic. While an awkward word to use, it best describes the most
potent aspect of 9 ½ weeks. Once John is seen using Elizabeth as an object, the
connection between the couple and the audience becomes rocky. In Fifty Shades
of Grey, Christian Grey’s money elevates him. Making him more eligible despite
his sexual appetites. In 9 ½ Weeks, John uses his money differently. The
relationship between him and Elizabeth reaches a low rung when John, a Wall
Street broker, goads Elizabeth to crawl and pick up money on all fours.
Elizabeth rejects this, finding it too demeaning. This was also the scene
Basinger had to perform in the audition to gain the role. Something that left
her emotionally distressed. There isn’t such an explicit scene like this in
Fifty Shades of Grey. However, the way the character of Anastasia is quickly
wooed by Grey’s billionaire status and riches feels like a stark contrast
between 1986 and where we might be from 2015 and beyond.
I had originally considered writing a piece about Rourke in a heap of his earlier films because he was
so engaging to watch. However, his ousting on Celebrity Big Brother had me
consider otherwise. His early work is a constant reminder of how appealing he
was as a talent. Balancing roguish charm with something far darker behind the
slight smile. At first, Rourke’s velvety smooth voice is soft; you
wouldn’t believe he’d say boo to a ghost. Then at times, he stares at Elizabeth
with a sensitivity as though they’re the last two people on earth. Yet that
same glare can also suggest that he would be ok with being the only person
around. Zalaman King, the infamous producer of this film, as well as many other
soft-core features, stated in an interview with film scholar Peter Lehman in
2006 (also in a 2017 article for The Telegraph): “Nobody wanted Mickey
because he was a struggle. Everyone thought he was a thug. Mickey, to me, was
always beautiful, always dangerous, and always charming. He also is not
frightened of women, and women can sense that, and he’s got that animal
instinct.
Said instinct is what makes his depiction of John so
arresting. That Rourke was compared to Marlon Brando was no joke. It’s easy to
see why in films like 9 ½ Weeks. A quintessential rogue of the highest order.
His performance here makes it understandable why Elizabeth has trouble with
him, so connected he is to her sexual awakening. The magnetism is like Brando’s
Stanley Kowalski. With John, being with the bad boy can make Elizabeth feel so
good.
When Elizabeth begins to reject John’s demands, it’s a sign
that this is not transactional to her and that she can’t be bought. Similar
tensions arise when John books a hotel room, blindfolds Elizabeth, and hires a
sex worker to sleep with her. We can stand our ground on our modern,
sanctimonious views about sex work another day, but what is happening here is
that Elizabeth is demanding that their relationship just isn’t in this
transactional arena. There is a limit to what they do. To Elizabeth, John’s actions
begin to feel less about desire or boundary pushing, for the benefit of both.
For her, she is seen as less of a human being and more of an object.
Where 9 ½ Weeks stumbles is when trying to convey clarity to
the emotional weight that is being placed upon Elizabeth. A running subplot
involving Elizabeth setting up an exhibition for an elderly painter named
Farnsworth stamps the impression that someone like this artist, whose
absent-mindedness appears to be teetering on the verge of senility, can see the
true woman where John cannot. This all seems to come across in a muddled heap.
As if the film wasn’t sure where to place it in the movie. Meanwhile, John’s
controlling behaviour weighs so heavily on the film that when he finally shows
Elizabeth a hint of vulnerability, the acknowledgement comes far too late for
any contemplation.
Interestingly, like Fifty Shades of Grey, John is like
Christian in that they try to compartmentalise their indulgence of darker
sexual habits in ways that seemingly only make them appear more dismissive of
their female partners. The finale of 9 ½ Weeks feels hastened and muddled. Is
that all John has to say about what he’s done to Elizabeth? His final moments
feel more like indifference than regret. John is an emotionally stunted
individual. Never wanting to meet Elizabeth’s friends, his wish to keep Elizabeth
at home and look after her is connected more to selfishness and sexual
gratification than to building a healthy relationship with Elizabeth.
Strangely, the ending of the book feels more honest despite its malice.
Abandoning your partner in a mental institution after psychologically breaking
them via sex is callous and ugly, yet leaving them and never contacting them
again, while cowardly, probably works on the page rather than on the screen,
where John gives little more than a shrug and a weak semi-plea for some sort of
forgiveness. If we were given nothing, it would be beyond wicked. If the film
moved towards a happy conclusion, it would feel cheap. But what occurs here
feels abrupt and unsure. Lyne remarked in interviews that hours of footage were
left on the cutting room floor. Perhaps there was something that gave its final
third more shape.
Then, of course, there is Lyne’s handling of his actors on
set. Doing what he could to make Basinger feel discomfort throughout the
ten-week shoot. On Lyne’s most recent feature, Deep Water, he expressed
frustration with having intimacy coordinators on set, suggesting that such a
role displays a lack of trust between a director and his actors. However, it is
doubtful that Lyne’s methods would fly today. It also begs the question: Do we
still try to humiliate and destroy performers for entertainment like this? The
troubling aspect is that so much of the darker material doesn’t make 9 ½ Weeks.
Making the reasoning behind Basinger’s trauma even more trivial.
That said, this is what Lyne wanted.
Said Lyne at the time: “Rather than saying here are two
strange people doing perverted stuff in a posh New York apartment, I wanted it
to be a movie couples might see and argue about.”
I believe 9 ½ Weeks is effective in this aim. Basinger is
still more impressive here than in her award-winning turn in L.A. Confidential
(1997). She has stated that despite the stress of the production, the role
helped her grow as an actress. Much like Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct,
Basinger has made peace with a challenging role, partly due to the potency she
gave it. Elizabeth is a complicated individual whose awakened, specific desires
both excite and build conflict within her.
These desires almost override her emotional needs in a distressing way, yet still often seem plausible. She is the earnest heart of a film,
which even now is still seen by most as a hot mess of titillation over anything
else. One may argue about why Elizabeth would stay in such a perilous
relationship, but Rourke’s performance, along with Lyne’s mining of the
chemistry between the two characters, makes it understandable in a way
imitators struggle with. Modern media critique seems to be having a
hand-wringing moment with sexual relationships on screen. It’s troubling to see
pearl clutching at even the idea of sex being simulated on screen. Rewatching 9
½ Weeks was a clear reminder to me of grown-up, adult entertainment, which can
still be stimulating if not perfect.
