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In an era where nostalgic reimagining often falls short, LOVE LIES BLEEDING triumphantly delivers the 80s. This film isn't just a throwback; it's an immersive dive into the gritty, grimy, and gloriously sweaty world of 80s bodybuilding, punctuated with killer body horror and sapphic romance.
Take me to church, Rose Glass
Rose Glass's filmography is characterised by her exploration of complex psychological themes and haunting visuals. And this isn’t the first project Glass has worked on with cinematographer Ben Fordesman — they first worked together on SAINT MAUD, her debut. In this feature, Glass delves into the psyche of a devoutly religious hospice nurse who becomes increasingly obsessed with saving the soul of her patient. Themes of faith, obsession, and the search for meaning permeate the narrative, underscored by Glass's meticulous attention to detail and striking imagery.
In the synth-soaked scenes of the 80s in LOVE LIES BLEEDING, the gym is the new church. Glass continues her exploration of psychological depth in a drastically different setting, but still with her distinctly Gothic sensibility. The idea of completing a design, central to Jackie's pursuit of physical perfection, echoes the themes of obsession and transformation present in Glass's previous work. Through intimate character studies and visually arresting imagery, Glass crafts a narrative that is both thought-provoking and viscerally compelling.
*** Here’s your spoiler warning before you read on ***
The moment we see the grimy gym Lou (Stewart) runs at the beginning, we know the perceived glamour of the 80s has been eschewed in favour of a raw, unfiltered look. I mean, nothing illustrates this ethos more than Lou unclogging a toilet from someone’s dense whey protein shit.
The oiled muscles, the mullets, and the steamy sex scenes filmed against an orange drape backdrop all contribute to an atmosphere that is quintessentially 80s while earnestly creating a textured setting with nothing gratuitous. Which is a heck of an achievement when working with a decade renowned for its excess. It’s like watching a very gay episode of MIAMI VICE with all the intensity and stylisation one would expect, but you don’t come away thinking it was tacky. Further, a decade of extremes and excess lends itself perfectly to a director with what she terms a “gothic realism” style. Reality, but electrified.
You’ll appreciate this even more if you read the interview with Indiewire, which covers how they achieved a film look with digital, due to budget not stretching to celluloid.
Long live the roid flesh
The 1980s witnessed a remarkable evolution in the realm of body horror, largely driven by advancements in SFX. Filmmakers were able to push the boundaries of visual storytelling, leading to a surge in visceral and grotesque imagery. The new flesh of VIDEODROME redefined the horror genre by delving deep into the fears surrounding the human body's vulnerability and mutability. The decade marked a turning point where body horror transcended mere shock value, becoming a vehicle for exploring existential anxieties and the fragility of the human condition, leaving an indelible mark on the genre for decades to come.
The body horror elements of LLB are where the film really shines. Drawing comparisons to BLACK SWAN and other psychological thrillers, the film explores the obsessive pursuit of physical perfection. Injection scenes, along with hulklike transformations of burgeoning rage that builds throughout, add a delightful element of the grotesque. It’s a visceral journey into the psyche and a disruption of Cartesian mind/body dualism. Muscles and steroids collide with hallucinations and roid rage. In the height of Jackie’s substance abuse, even the motivational poster text swells as if growing. We start to question reality through her eyes. The result is a compelling narrative that feels both fresh and intensely personal.
Kristevian depths
Julia Kristeva's theory of the abject is pivotal in understanding the thematic depth of the body horror aspects of LLB. Kristeva explored the concept of the abject in her seminal work Powers of Horror. (Oh, speaking of books — yes, the book Macho Sluts that Lou is reading in the film is a real book, and I plan to buy it.) The abject refers to what disturbs identity, system, and order, what does not "respect borders, positions, rules," and what "disturbs identity, system, order" — essentially, what is cast off or deemed impure.
Jackie (O’Brian) masterfully portrays a visceral exploration of the abject through the lens of body horror. Her transformation aligns with Kristeva’s notion of the abject, where the body becomes a site of horror and fascination, breaking down the boundaries between the self and the other.
This powerful and unsettling portrayal taps into the horror of the body as a malleable entity, subject to intense scrutiny and alteration. The film doesn’t shy away from showing the visceral process of achieving her design, but also the transcendent and subversive beauty of it.
Her body, sculpted through sheer will and a hefty dose of steroids, becomes a canvas of abjection. It defies conventional notions of femininity and beauty, presenting a raw image of strength and struggle. This depiction is both empowering and horrifying, capturing the dual nature of the abject as something that both repels and attracts. And this is why I’m obsessed with the Gothic as a visual language that transcends genre.
Couldn’t not reference this other gym movie
Its central gym culture setting could invite comparisons to Bay’s dark comedy PAIN AND GAIN, another movie referencing the motivational catch phrases and gym culture of the era. But whereas this uses it as a backdrop for a darkly comedic true crime story, LLB dives deeper into the personal and psychological aspects.
Comparing them highlights an interesting contrast, though, between a caricaturish hyper-masculine heterosexual lens and a distinctly female, sapphic gaze.
Explicit words, tasteful filming
The film excels in its portrayal of a lesbian relationship, navigating the delicate balance between explicit desire and tasteful depiction. The scene where Lou tells her partner, "I want to stretch you" stands out for highlighting the unfiltered nature of their connection. Despite the explicitness of the dialogue, the actual filming of their sexual relationship is handled carefully, leaving just enough to the imagination.
Moreover, Jackie's physical transformation into a giantess near the end of the film serves as a powerful visual metaphor for her strength and empowerment. We suppose that we’re now seeing her the way Lou sees her. She’s glorious. This depiction emphasises admiration for her physique from a perspective that is distinctly different from the traditional male gaze. Instead, the audience appreciates Jackie’s body as a symbol of her dedication and resilience.
She’s in her bodybuilding bikini, yet it seems to be her sheer mass that inspires Lou’s gaze, filled with pride and awe, celebrating Jackie's strength and transformation as a triumph of personal and relational empowerment. I think she actually says “wow”. Like wow, look at my girl. So big and strong. This actively defies the ways in which women are traditionally celebrated even in feminist narratives, and it’s wonderful. It’s the most glaring way they could have represented that message to the audience without being didactic, and that’s incredibly satisfying.
Hit the road, Jack
The ending is another masterstroke. Although most of the film isn’t set on the road, there’s a plan for the couple to go to Las Vegas for the bodybuilding comp and then just keep driving, and cars feature a lot in the story, and the final scene cements it as a road movie, or at least one I desperately want to see. A nod to THELMA AND LOUISE, it leaves the audience hanging, unsure of what the future holds for its characters. The open road stretches before them forever.
It’s a really interesting choice. Jackie is asleep in the passenger seat and Lou is dealing with another body, taking a cigarette from the victim’s purse, even though she’d previously quit. The moment adds an element of dark comedy and would normally be a moment lulling the audience into a false sense of security before the lovers are cornered and captured. Instead, the film ends there in that wonderful moment and we’re left to imagine. The end credits have the silhouetted couple dancing on a red backdrop, casting our minds back to the love scene. It’s perfect.
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KILLER SALLY, a documentary examining the life of bodybuilder Sally McNeil, provides a compelling cultural reference point. The documentary delves into the darker aspects of gym culture, including the prevalence and normalisation of steroid use. It also includes themes of domestic violence and encourages an ambivalent but certainly overwhelmingly sympathetic view of Sally, who allegedly shot her husband (a fellow bodybuilder) in self defence.