‘Nymphomaniac’ stuns and tickles

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-yourface 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 Director: Lars von Trier. Cast: Charlotte Gainsbourg, Stellan Skarsgard, Stacy Martin. Rating: Not rated.

Note: At Harkins Camelview. Great Fair

Bad Good

Bomb Find interviews with Stellan Skarsgard and Charlotte Gainsbourg at movies.azcentral.com. 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. He compares the contest on the train to fly fishing. Edgar Allan Poe works his way into the conversation, as do Bach and polyphonic composition, among other incongruous topics. It’s hilarious. It’s also visually arresting, which is nothing new for von Trier. Each chapter looks different, and he often intercuts scenes with footage that illustrates whatever Joe is talking about in the most obvious, and funny, of ways. She remembers a hamster and there, we see one. She bests Jerome in parallel parking as we see superimposed on the screen schematics for properly backing into a space.

The humor is needed, because Joe’s story is intense. Her sense of self is wrapped up in her sexuality and how she uses it: sometimes indiscriminately, sometimes passionately (it is the only time she shows any sort of emotion), sometimes cruelly. It gives her a sense of power that at the same time troubles her.

Yet, despite describing herself as shameful, she’s also distanced from her behavior.

In the film’s best scene, Mrs. H (Uma Thurman) barges into Joe’s apartment. Her husband has just left her for Joe (something Joe didn’t want), so she brings her three young sons in and proceeds to humiliate Mr. H and Joe. At one point she asks Joe, “Would it be all right if I showed the children the whoring bed?” (She doesn’t wait for an answer.)

But the torrent doesn’t affect Joe. “You’ve got to break some eggs to make an omelet,” she shrugs, and the ever-patient Seligman agrees.

Where it’s all leading is anyone’s guess. Will we learn how Joe was injured? The cause of her sexual hunger? No telling, but one thing we do know: If “Vol. II” is anything like “Vol. I,” it’ll be worth finding out.