Much has been written about the function of money shots in porn to denote the authenticity of male sexual pleasure in onscreen sex. But it’s always been considered much harder to guarantee the reality of female pleasure on film. Kechiche’s new feature goes further than any movie, certainly any mainstream movie, in bringing female emotion—whether sexual or involving the passions more generally—vividly, bodily to life. Blue Is the Warmest Color arguably features the most explicit and intense lesbian sex ever seen in a mainstream film or any sex for that matter.
Kechiche’s sex sequences go on a long time and are repetitive, it’s true—because his heroines want more of the same, and they want it to last as long as possible. But they are the only such scenes I can think of that actually appear to depict two people having sex—rather than two actors evoking the idea of sex as social ritual. French cinema tends to mystify sex, and at the high end of the art-cinema spectrum, it makes a big deal about it being transgressive or transcendental (as per the films of Catherine Breillat and Jean-Claude Brisseau).
Only Kechiche’s film presents the bedroom as a place for, not to put too fine a point on it, a hot shag—and these scenes are indisputably hot and sweaty with it. This is something cinema almost never dares to show us, in any male-female combination, because there’s usually more spectacle to be gained from showing sex as something dramatic, even traumatic. But here’s something radically different—two people in bed, and more importantly, two women, unproblematically having the time of their lives.
What gives these scenes their edge is simply the palpable sense of the vividly real, the same sense of the real that you get throughout the film whenever humans are simply being human—for example, when high-school students speculate more or less coherently over their class set text (Marivaux), or when Seydoux’s skin blotches up in the argument scene. Kechiche and cinematographer Sofian El Fani like to get in close on people’s bodies and faces, not just capturing their movements and expressions but the textures of their skin, and they achieve a sculptural tactility in catching the detail of the heroines’ bodies, their fleshiness and the porousness of their skin, blotchy or not.
The film is constantly coming in close on Exarchopoulos’s face when Adèle is asleep, and I don’t think I’ve seen any film catch a sleeping face in quite such disorderly, disheveled repose. The sex scenes in Blue will certainly prove a benchmark for the depiction of physicality in film—but so too will those tender, intimate close-ups of Exarchopoulos’ face, sweat, overbite and all.
Jonathan Romney is chief film critic at the Independent on Sunday, contributing editor at Sight & Sound and a contributor to Film Comment, Screen International and London Review of Books.
BLUE IS THE WARMEST COLOR | France, 2013, 179m | Director: Abdellatif Kechiche
Starring: Léa Seydoux, Adèle Exarchopoulos, Salim Kechiouche