Climax

A woman is walking through snow dressed in a black singlet and pants, screaming, falling, her arms leaving pinkish stains in the snow as they flail beside her. Opening credits. A long montage featuring snippets of audition interviews with young, ambitious dancers. Cut to a warehouse sized building in rural France that has been converted into a live-in dance school. The floor of a large hall is painted red and a curtain sized glittering French flag hangs on one wall. The students engage in a group dance, each in turn demonstrating contortion-like flexibility, athleticism and hardcore vogue moves to the beat of a 1990s house soundtrack. They are filmed from above, at floor level, in close-up. More credits. Rehearsal is over. There’s an after-party. We move from group to group, listening to conversations. End credits. The sangria has been spiked. The room descends into infrared madness.

Gaspar Noe’s new film, Climax is intense, disturbing, horrifying, exquisite, voyeuristic, fascinating and macabre. 

★★★★

Reviewed by Rita Bratovich