Chloe Review
Words by Suji Paek
Say what you will, but some things are better left unrealized.
Such as your parents having sex. Ew. Or your siblings having sex. Awkward. And your kids (someday) having sex -now that’s a lot of unwanted visuals. But a rated-R version of other people’s disturbingly unscrupulous sexual manifestations … well that’s called movie magic; a la “Chloe.”
For a movie based on the tried-and-true adage of love, lust and lies, “Chloe” adds a psychological new twist to the indulgent hot mess of crazy cinematographic love gone awry: a suspecting wife, her flirtatious husband, a hooker, and their son.
So who is the son? The hooker and the husband’s? The husband and wife’s? Does it matter? Not really—especially since they all end of sleeping with each other in a “Six Degrees of Separation” sort of way.
Set in Toronto, the story begins when Catherine, a gynecologist played by Julianne Moore, begins to suspect her husband David, (Liam Neeson) a professor of music, of having an affair with one of his students. While successful and ravishing, Catherine lets her jealousy over David’s seemingly womanizing ways gets the better of her. A conveniently missed flight, wandering eyes, suggestive texts from Catherine’s suspicions she employs a doe-eyed seductress named Chloe (Amanda Seyfried) to discover the truth behind her husband’s infidelity.
What began as a ploy for entrapment goes terribly awry when Chloe begins to attach herself to Catherine. From there, a series of increasingly absurd plot lines, fetishes, and obsessions unravel.
Despite a formulaic storyline and somewhat shallow character development, the personal moments of eroticism—think Julianne Moore masturbating in the shower to the thought of David cheating on her with the call girl she hired to bait him—breathes an almost innocent sense of intimacy that effectively humanizes this mostly bizarre love triangle (err, square, depending on if you count in the son).
And if things can’t get any weirder, the unlikely bond between wife and the call girl spirals into yet another uncomfortable liaison of Oedipus-esque proportions, drawing both empathy and perversion for their mother- daughter relationship.
Still, the movie’s heavily sex-centric focus resonates with thematic tinges of romance and redemption. Persistent motifs such as Chloe’s hair clip, soft-lens camera shots, and tinkling piano music exude a sense of something more substantial than the temporary fulfillment of physical lust.
Driven by the overtones of raw sexual tension, “Chloe” delivers a deliciously provocative thriller that leaves you feeling amused, and a bit aroused—sort of like a cross between a Danielle Steel novel and the mindless entertainment of “The Real World.” It’s a movie for those looking for a night accompanied by the likes of a cheap bottle of wine and mild erotica–think cheesy ‘80s soft core.
Suji gives “Chloe” 3 out of 5 F’s.
How We See It:
F: You know that saying, “I’d rather stab myself in the eye than …”
FF: Is there beer involved? Pretty sure an equally shitty movie told me they served beer in hell.
FFF: Some laughs, some explosions. Megan Fox’s navel. Mildly entertaining in an overrated, I’m-not-sure-why-I- give-an-F sort of way: think Britney’s comeback and the Kardashian klan.
FFFF: Rad in a “If Justin Bieber, Miley and the Jonas brothers united with the rest of Disney Channel’s teeny-bopper Scooby Gang to unveil some sort of child-mongering conspiracy” kind of way.
FFFFF: This film is so good it’s like Twilight never existed.
