Yorgos Lanthimos’ films are weird. I love weird films. His English language debut, the 2015 dark comedy The Lobster, a wonderfully grotesque tragicomedy, is always my go to favourite movie when asked by someone I want to impress. I also adore Emma Stone. In short, I was ready to call Poor Things the film of 2024 before I even went to see it. Unfortunately, it stopped being my film of the year as soon as I left the cinema and started thinking; this is what film critics refer to as ‘quite a bad sign’.
Poor Things tells the story of Bella Baxter, who has been revived after an attempted suicide – with a twist. Her brain has been replaced with that of a baby, and we join her as she begins to learn about the world, her own sexuality, and the people involved in both.
The Greek director has undeniably crafted a marvel. It is gorgeous to look at: between its sumptuous, colourful sets and its costume department who were determined to outdo themselves with every look, it’s a visual joy. Technically, it’s all there. The camera is a character of its own, with its unconventional angles and a disorienting fish-eye lens. Emma Stone is, as always, magnificent with as much control over every inch of her body as a puppeteer with hundreds of strings. Lanthimos’ command of the screen is remarkable- each frame is worthy of a place inside a gallery. It’s clear he had a vision. This, unfortunately, is where it begins to unravel.
The film loses a great deal of merit as soon as you examine it as more than a pretty piece of art. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, however it attempts on multiple occasions to tackle interesting themes and fails to deliver on them all.
A grown woman with the brain of an infant. This concept is great, and was borrowed from the 1992 Poor Things novel by Alasdair Gray. Alas, much of the commentary that accompanies it seems to have been lost in translation. To be clear- there is nothing inherently wrong with altering the source material which has inspired your work, it’s just slightly odd to leave behind the original’s entire soul.
Plenty have touted the film as some kind of feminist triumph, but there’s no evidence for this onscreen. Bella, who has the mental age of a small child, finds her way in the world exclusively through her sexuality. Multiple men want to have sex with her while she is still learning the alphabet. The film seems to deliberately avoid the obvious metaphor in this element of the story, instead aligning itself with the very men who take advantage of her.
There is at no point any appreciation for the negative impact this should have on her as she matures. Any woman who was sexualised as a teenager will describe a deep feeling of violation that comes with adults taking advantage of your innocence and yet this is not an issue Lanthimos seems to want to acknowledge. There are no repercussions for the man who becomes engaged to her before she can form full sentences. In fact, he is rewarded with a happily ever after.
Bella is growing up. She is curious and peculiar, and the only way in which she is allowed to explore the world is through sex. Sure, she reads some books and makes some friends. But the only thing she is entitled to by way of ’empowerment’ is lots of sex. Even when she’s not having sex, she’s quite often got one or both of her breasts out.
This criticism doesn’t come from a place of pearl-clutching prudishness. Of course discovering her body and being in charge of her own pleasure would be part of Bella’s coming of age – but she doesn’t do much else. She actually goes through zero development beyond grasping the rules of English language syntax. It’s as though someone tried to prove that the male gaze can be feminist. Surprisingly, it can’t.
There is a scene where Bella discovers poverty and is, naturally, distraught. She laments that she has no right to live in such splendour while others starve. This topic is soon forgotten about, never to be mentioned again. It is moments like these where Lanthimos almost makes a point, but then sort of forgets that he had ever intended to.
As you’ve probably heard, Poor Things is a weird movie, but not in the ways it wants to be. It is silly and fun, but its hybrid duck-dog creatures and mad scientist’s burps are far less bizarre than its story. Emma Stone’s ever-present right nipple is a constant reminder that the film was made by and for men, and that even in a fantasy world where skies are red and pigs can fly we cannot escape our imaginary male voyeurs.