First off, to say that Lars von Trier's "Nymphomaniac: Vol. I" isn't for everybody is an understatement. But for those willing to go along with von Trier's typically in-your-face tactics, it's a good, if uncomfortable and surprisingly funny , film. And the discomfort is part of what von Trier is after. Those offended by what they deemed pornography in Martin Scorsese's "The Wolf of Wall Street" will be appalled at what appears to be, yes, depiction of actual sex.
Reportedly von Trier, ever inventive, digitally attached the nether regions of pornographic actors onto his mainstream actors. Yet there is nothing erotic about the film.
It is the story of Joe, played by Charlotte Gainsbourg in middle age, and Stacy Martin as a young woman, a self-described nymphomaniac found bruised and bleeding in a freezing alley by Seligman Stellan Skarsgard. Seligman takes Joe into his small apartment, cleans her up, offers her tea and listens to her tale of self-loathing, told in chapters.
It's a framing device of sorts, but von Trier cuts back and forth constantly between the present and Joe's past, as she recounts her obsession with sex.
She recalls her childhood with her hated mother Connie Nielsen and beloved father Christian Slater. She loses her virginity to the bored, uninterested Jerome Shia LaBeouf, sporting a horrible British accent , a character who will reappear in her life throughout the story. She and a friend compete to see how many men they can have sex with on a train. Joe wins by basically forcing a reluctant man to let her perform oral sex on him. These experiences are balanced with Joe's conversations with Seligman, whose enthusiasm for listening seemingly is not prurient but rather academic, in a sort of ridiculous fashion.
