“Surgery is the new sex.”
Kristen Stewart’s Timlin whispers this into the ear of Viggo Mortensen’s Saul Tenser after witnessing his surgical performance art in David Cronenberg’s Crimes of the Future. It’s an epiphany for the aroused Timlin. For writer/director Cronenberg, it feels more like an organic evolution, a new appendage sprouted from his fleshy, pulsing, existential body of work. In many ways, the visionary’s return to body horror is an extension of his philosophical fascination with the human body but a far more muted, reflective, and sophisticated affair that comes with age.
Set in a vague future, humans have long adapted to the synthetic environment they created, a world inundated by plastic waste. The human body has evolved and mutated; it no longer feels pain- except for Saul Tenser, a performance artist who refuses to adapt and whose body rebels by producing new non-functional organs regularly. Saul’s become a celebrity artist with partner Caprice (Léa Seydoux), making the surgical removal of these superfluous internal bits an artform. For Saul, transforming his body’s mutations is a means of maintaining control. But the avant-garde performances’ notoriety has attracted many who would use Saul to expose the next stage of human physiology.
There’s a muted quality about Crimes of the Future and a refusal to adhere to a more conventional narrative structure. Threads of Cronenberg’s previous work get woven throughout, with moments and imagery that seem in direct dialogue with other films from his oeuvre. Only this time, the conversation is much more subdued and introspective. The visionary waxes poetic on aging, on transgressive avant-garde art, and attributing meaning to a damaged world of our own making. He does it in an elegant, quiet way through his characters and this almost dystopian world.
It’s a dialogue-heavy feature, with characters often speaking in hushed tones against beige, peeling walls. Howard Shore’s score is also sparse and subdued, with scenes set to near silence or diegetic sound. There’s a soothing yet engrossing aloofness to Saul’s story and purpose, with no flashiness to its peaks or conclusion. The offbeat humor is dry and subtle, and it’s so very Cronenberg.
There’s a distinct lack of showiness throughout; the set pieces are minimal in design and quantity. It puts the performances at the forefront. Mortensen’s layers peel back ever so slowly, and his sickly Saul often lurks like a strange monk that prefers to crouch in corners. Seydoux imbues Caprice with a stoic possessiveness yet exhibits a profound passion for her art. Stewart is transfixing as the breathy, jittery oddball so completely smitten and turned on by Saul’s surgeries.
Then there’s the body horror. The fetishistic surgeries send the characters into fits of sexual desire; they’re turned on by internal organs and surgical blades penetrating flesh. Caprice kneels in pleasure at the sight of a new gaping gash across Saul’s abdomen, eager to probe his insides with her tongue. The tools reminiscent of Dead Ringers, the tables and chairs from eXistenZ, and the stage at home in the realm of Videodrome unite to mesmerize and repulse.
Crimes of the Future isn’t so interested in plot but rather in pondering over philosophical questions. The worldbuilding is sparse and vague by design, and the pacing is a dreamy lull. Cronenberg returns to body horror with ease but never cuts as deep with his meditations as his characters would. Even while anemic, Cronenberg continues to test the limits of human flesh like no other. His distinct vision, oddball characters, and soft-spoken yet dry sense of humor make this a welcome and deeply engrossing return to form.
Crimes of the Future is available in theaters on June 3, 2022.
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