Disarticulate can mean to separate bones at the joints, either traumatically through injury or by a surgeon. But there is a second definition, perhaps more devastating to the protagonist of In the Cut, that considers the term as destroying the logic behind an argument or opinion. Frannie (Meg Ryan), an English teacher and writer, comes across the word when she is questioned by Detective Malloy (Mark Ruffalo) after part of a murdered woman’s body is found in the garden outside her apartment. In the film, women are prey, chased not only by a serial killer on the loose but also by the men who they know in their daily lives. Frannie is constantly surveying her environment as she contends with an ex who stalks her, a liar who she struggles to read and a student who suggests serial killer and sex offender John Wayne Gacy wasn’t at fault for his actions, instead claiming “desire” was to blame.
For filmmaker Jane Campion, the student’s line of thinking absolves men of any responsibility when they fail to control their sexual impulses and act out when they feel unfulfilled. It’s an example of male entitlement that Campion knows well. Throughout her career, she has been one of a few in a male-dominated industry. Her 1993 film, The Piano, which made her the first woman to win the Palme d’Or at the Cannes Film Festival, demonstrated many of Campion’s themes, including how women struggle against men in confrontations of both peril and intimacy that reveal established power structures of control and exclusion.
In the Cut explores this concept through the lens of the erotic thriller, a genre whose history includes many versions of the femme fatale, a woman who uses her sexual charm to deceive or manipulate the film’s male hero. But counter to convention, Frannie is not a femme fatale just as Detective Malloy is not the main protagonist. Instead, the inciting action occurs when Frannie walks down to a bar basement in search of the restroom. In typical voyeuristic noir fashion, the allure is hidden in shadow, but it is an unexpected image of a man getting a blowjob from a woman with bright blue fingernails. The exchange permeates into Frannie’s psyche, manifesting as lust, and the following day, Malloy shows up at Frannie’s apartment – the woman with blue fingernails has been disarticulated. The pair develop a sexual relationship, but at the same time, Frannie becomes increasingly fearful that she may be the next murder victim.
In 2003, the film received negative reviews from critics and audiences with most complaints targeting Meg Ryan’s performance and the execution of the serial killer mystery. At her peak in popularity in the ’90s, Ryan was known for her roles in romantic comedies like Nora Ephron’s Sleepless in Seattle and You’ve Got Mail and was branded “America’s sweetheart.” These roles didn’t include female sexual satisfaction, and when they did address the subject, they were played for laughs – think Ryan’s fake orgasm scene in When Harry Met Sally. The end goal for women is a long-term relationship, not sex, which was only central to male-led comedies. Ryan’s typecasting made In the Cut and its explicit sex scenes come as a shock to many, and the film’s reception, along with a contentious promotional interview with talk show host Michael Parkinson, who rebuked her for performing nude scenes, proved detrimental to her star image.
But in the two decades since its release, there has been a reclamation of the film, with some appreciating its empathy for women and readiness to tell a story from their perspective. The red herrings to the identity of the serial killer are not cheap genre tricks but a portrayal of how women feel existing under the constant watch of men. Campion captures female pleasure during sex – Frannie climaxes when Malloy eats her out from behind – but notably without a femme fatale’s ulterior motive. The film also draws a connection between pleasure and violence. As Frannie starts to follow her sexual desires, the threat the male characters possess becomes more obvious. Each one demands that Frannie be servile, available whenever they require someone to talk to or have sex. In Campion’s world, this is a real aspect of every woman’s circumstances.
The film complicates things further by allowing room for viewers to question whether this is a positive portrayal of female desire. The narrative itself gives no clear indication, but it frames Malloy as Frannie’s most attractive option. He’s good-looking, great at sex and a sweet talker, but he also makes misogynistic, racist and homophobic comments in his police banter and is overly assertive in his pursuit of Frannie. The detective is equally threatening as he is charming, and Frannie finds this seducing. A possible interpretation is that because women’s sexual preferences exist within the patriarchal norms of power and submission, they must adhere to them and shape themselves accordingly. Maybe Campion is asking, “What would women desire if all possibilities were truly open to them?”
This brings us back to disarticulate – it’s what the serial killer does to his female victims and also explains how men disrupt each woman’s choice in heterosexual relationships. Women have to reconcile attempting to find the kind of sex they want with the dangers posed by male desire. These ruminations are what make In the Cut fascinating as both an erotic thriller and a piece of art that says something authentic to many women’s experiences.
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