David Bowie is Tilda Swinton’s spirit animal.
Sure, the post-Patronus era has seen the totemic phrase reduced to the stuff of vision and Pinterest boards, but you’d be hard-pressed to find two more kindred souls than these androgynous, ageless aliens. Swinton admitted as much during our interview at last year’s SXSW, calling the Thin White Duke “the cousin I never had” who “looked like someone from the same planet as I did.” And from the opening moments of her latest film, A Bigger Splash, as the inimitable actress stalks towards an arena concert stage in a sparkling catsuit, her eyes masked in face paint, it’s clear she’s paying homage to her idol.
Swinton plays Marianne, a rock legend whose days of “playing drums”—swiping her fingers in her lover’s mouth, tapping them on rails of coke, and licking them dry—are well in the past. These days, she’s content being sexually serviced by her hunky boyfriend of six years, Paul (Matthias Schoenaerts). Early on, we see the two lounging naked by the pool, before doing some heavy thrusting inside it.
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That pool is situated on the remote Italian island of Pantelleria, a comune in the Strait of Sicily filled with stunning Mediterranean sea vistas and wondrous mountains with hot springs. And make no mistake about it, this film, lensed by the talented Yorick Le Saux (Only Lovers Left Alive), is vacation porn of the first order, featuring an orgy of breathtaking shots, from the couple’s hilltop villa overlooking the town, to restaurants embedded in the side of mountains, to the architecture, which is both Roman and Arab-inspired—owing to its former colonizers and proximity to Tunisia. Hell, the film could also be a giant, striking ad for Alitalia, which holds a monopoly on flights to the island, and whose airliners can be seen in numerous shots.
Arriving on one of those planes to disrupt Marianne and Paul’s blissful escape is the aforementioned cocaine co-conspirator, Harry, played by Ralph Fiennes. Harry’s dragged along his coed daughter, Penelope (Dakota Johnson), a Lolita-type who lounges about in bikinis, see-through shirts, or in the buff, and prefers to speak in double entendres. She’s also his Daisy Lowe, with Dad only learning about his paternity a year prior. And from the moment Harry enters the fray, it’s clear that this hedonistic scoundrel is the new conductor of this orchestra—peeing on graves (“Europe is a grave,” he says), drinking like a fish, skinny-dipping (you see all of Ralph in this movie, and often), and, in one outstanding sequence, dancing like nobody’s watching (they are) to the Rolling Stones ballad “Emotional Rescue.”
If you thought Fiennes’s turn in The Grand Budapest Hotel was vibrant, well, think again. His Harry, a former music producer, brings new meaning to the word “charisma” in what is perhaps, next to renowned concierge Gustave H., the finest performance of his career. This is award-worthy stuff.
Of course, this being a film by Italian director Luca Guadagnino, who brilliantly skewered the Italian elite with muse Swinton in I Am Love, Harry has more nefarious intentions, including winning his former love back from his former bud Paul. In this way, he’s a bit like Don Logan, another motor-mouthed Brit and jealous ex-lover who raised hell at an exotic villa in Sexy Beast.
There are even more complicating factors. For one, Marianne’s just had vocal cord surgery and is on two weeks’ voice rest, saving her words for late-night rooftop whisper sessions with Paul, and forced to absorb Harry’s constant, nagging banter sans reprisals. While the two were very much in love, Harry was also a domineering force in Marianne’s life—the psychological Ike to her Tina. And the tortured Paul, who is none too pleased that Harry is back, is only one year removed from a suicide attempt. All this is to say that something very bad is about to go down in paradise, hinted at by a Brian Jones metaphor delivered in the early goings.
But before things get too sinister—and the entire enterprise nearly flies off the rails—there’s plenty of erotic tension between this quartet of captivating stars. While Harry embarks on his quest to woo Marianne, the sexpot Penelope has her sights set on Paul, showering him with coquettish queries and, in one sweltering scene, lounging naked by a hot spring and signaling him to enter. While her turn as S&M newbie Anastasia Steele in Fifty Shades was impressive, this is a far sexier turn.
The couplings don’t end there. Since they’ve only been introduced a year prior, there’s a strong whiff of incest lurking between Harry and Penelope, who kiss each other on the mouth and seem way too cozy when they tie one on, as well as some unfinished business between Harry and Paul—who were once thick as thieves before Harry committed the biggest mistake of his life and introduced him to Marianne. Swinton and Schoenaerts generate plenty of heat too, e.g., a scene where the terribly handsome Belgian gets on his knees and performs oral on the rock god while she’s standing.
A Bigger Splash premiered at the Venice Film Festival and distributor Fox Searchlight won’t be releasing it stateside until May 2016. And, while it has its faults—such as a subplot involving migrants that, though timely, feels tacked on and too on the nose (#FirstWorldProblems, get it?), and a comedown following its third act twist—Guadagnino’s film is splendid-looking through and through, and its actors, in particular Fiennes and Johnson, give it their all.
