The Last Station – Worse than Porn?
Posted on February 24, 2010
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The Last Station has all the hallmarks of an upmarket arthouse movie: story involving Great Writer – check; distinguished actors going for the gold – check; meticulously-executed period costumes – check; scenic, pre-industrial landscapes – check; some allusion to Big Ideas – check; an eschewing of popcorn-movie values such as narrative tension and flash in favor of an almost suffocating tastefulness – check. And yet in one respect it makes a porn movie look honest.
The Great Writer in this case is the ailing Tolstoy (distinguished actor Christopher Plummer), caught in the middle of a battle between his wife, countess Sofya (distinguished actor Helen Mirren) and his main acolyte, Chertkov (distinguished but miscast actor Paul Giamatti). Chertkov is the leader of the Tolstoyans, a sort of 60s movement avant la lettre based on the writer’s ideals of communal property, pacifism, and going back to the land, with the important difference of advocating celibacy as opposed to free love. The scheming Chertkov (who Giamatti seems to have based on Peter Mandelson) wants Tolstoy to bequeath the copyright of his works to humanity, an idea the Countess is prepared to fight to the death, literally.
Chertkov introduces young, idealistic Tolstoyan Bulgakov into the household, ostensibly to be Tolstoy’s new secretary but in reality to keep an eye on the Countess. Naïve Bulgakov may be, but since he’s played by the adorable James McAvoy (who I once found myself standing next to at a Waitrose sandwich counter, but that’s another story), one of the girls in the Tolstoyan commune takes a shine to him.
Because Bulgakov is a virgin, she has to make most of the running, but he is far from uncooperative. And here’s where it gets weird. One night when Bulgakov is sleeping over at the commune, she comes to his cosy, wood-paneled guest room after he’s already in bed. She takes off her clothes and straddles him. They kiss for about a minute, have some sort of full-length body contact (it’s discreetly shot, so difficult to be more specific) for another 30 seconds or so, and boom – she’s open for business, as it were. Another minute and it’s all over, and apparently she’s just as satisfied as he is. Given that Bulgakov’s character is a virgin, it’s not the brevity once things get going that is unrealistic, it’s that the woman is ready in less time than it takes to warm up a car. Is there a switch I don’t know about?
Now I ask you – in what universe is a woman good to go with barely two minutes of foreplay? Surely this flatters male fantasies every bit as much as porn. In fact, it’s worse. While porn stars are not generally known for their acting ability, at least porn requires a certain level of authenticity that would challenge the most committed Method actor. The ladies can get away with a more manufactured performance, but even they have to be at least somewhat “in the moment” or there will be mechanical difficulties.
Also, the last thing a porn director wants is for a sex scene to last three minutes tops. What’s the audience supposed to concentrate on till the next sex scene rolls around? The story? The dialogue? So while the depiction of foreplay is not going to be extended to the point where it becomes a daunting model for the target audience, neither is it going to be unduly truncated in case the main event can’t be extended for as long as the director might hope.
This is why when non-porn films to try to depict The Act from soup to nuts, so to speak, they usually come a cropper. If it’s going to last long enough to in any way be credible as a satisfying experience for the characters, it’s going to take up an untoward amount of screentime. Even the longest car chases don’t go on for more than 10 pages, but 10 minutes from first kiss to last sigh is not much to write home about. So if it’s short enough not to make the story drag you wonder why the couple stays together, and if it’s long enough to be realistic you wonder why the film isn’t X-rated (or Last Tango In Paris).
The secret is to not even try to pretend you’re depicting the whole experience. This was the genius of the sex scene in Don’t Look Now, still widely held to be the most erotic after all these years. Brief glimpses of naked passion are intercut with scenes of the characters getting dressed, smiling at each other, straightening out the bed, and all the things that happen before and after. It never claims to be happening sequentially in real time. This means the entire episode can be extremely short without being any less sweet.
But perhaps I’m being too hard (fnar) on The Last Station. After all, the lady Tolstoyan is living on a commune where chastity is the rule, so you can see why she might think even three minutes of heaven is better than none.
Meanwhile, I’ll leave the last word to the great man himself, proving that when it comes to being a script guru, LT puts Robert McKee in the shade: “Drama, instead of telling us the whole of a man’s life, must place him in such a situation, tie such a knot, that when it is untied, the whole man is visible.” – Leo Tolstoy
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2 Responses to “The Last Station – Worse than Porn?”
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I liked that part of “Last Station.” Seemed more emotional and about pent up stuff. But your point is taken even if Paul G. was fantastic and not miscast.
Hi Ellin
Good point well made!
RE: Paul Giamatti, I haven’t seen the movie yet, so reserve some judgement, but I have to say he stood out in the trailer for all the wrong reasons. No one denies his acting credentials but he may as well have been dressed as a pantomime cow for all the effect his appearance had on me.
Hope all’s well.
Jared