The Girlfriend Experience (2009)
The Girlfriend Experience (USA) Directed by Stephen Soderbergh. Written by David Levien; Brian Koppelman. Starring Sasha Grey; Chris Santos; Marc Jacobson; Glenn Kenny
The idea of using a porn star in a mainstream movie, while not exactly commonplace, is not a novel undertaking either. Traci Lords (Cry Baby) has been acting in legitimate films for years. As recently as last year, Kevin Smith used Lords and Katie Morgan in Zack and Miri Make a Porno - playing, of course, adult actresses, but you get the idea. Having a prostitute as a main character in a drama is also not new. Serious films like Butterfield 8; Breakfast at Tiffany’s; Mamma Roma; Belle Du Jour; My Life to Live; Klute; Mona Lisa; Claire Dolan; Leaving Las Vegas and countless others have taken various approaches in depicting women who get paid to have sex. If Julia Roberts can play a hooker in a romantic comedy than the subject matter is certainly open for public consumption.
One goes into a film starring an adult movie actress/porn star (pick your term) healthily anticipating little from the acting itself. Based on that measure, 21 year old Sasha Grey’s performance as $2,000/hour nubile escort Chelsea exceeds expectations, although only in the sense that she is sufficiently restrained. Grey is faced with but a few scenes that have her deviating from the placid, blank-eyed stare and monosyllabic responses her character is shown to be fond of, and, with the exception of one short scene where she demonstrates some small degree of emotion, Soderbergh either shoots from practically outside of the room so that her face isn’t even visible, or cuts the scene in such a way that the guts are left out. It can be difficult to discern the difference between a bad actor, and a bad actor playing a character who is supposed to be - always on guard, holding back emotionally, slightly uncomfortable, and habitually placating those she’s with. It seems likely though that Soderbergh knew what he was getting into with Grey, and has taken great care to present her in the best light possible.
With a budget under two million dollars, Soderbergh (once again using his DP pseudonym in the credits) shoots this video project with a High Def Red Camera, and in one interview the director stated that only two scenes were actually lit with something other than natural light. This, if true, is nothing short of incredible. The quality of the image itself is equal to that of 35mm film, and the color and light splashes, use of focus, and sophisticated angles, demonstrates once again what an excellent visual filmmaker Soderbergh really is.
Written by David Levien and Brian Koppelman, the team behind Rounders, Runaway Jury, and Soderbergh’s Ocean’s 13, the film follows Chelsea, a high priced call-girl, going about her daily life in the course of a short stretch of fragmented days. Soderbergh also edited the film, and though the screenplay was supposedly linear, chose to play loosely with time by throwing scenes together as if he had tossed a puzzle in the air and gone by where the pieces randomly landed. When films employ these kinds of editing tactics it’s always a little suspicious as it often seems to be a cover for a lack of pace, energy and/or suspense. Here, the device, while occasionally disorienting, doesn’t seem overly obtrusive, somehow fitting in with a lead character whose moral base seems, at best, confused.
Taking place in early November 2008, there are many scenes that involve Chelsea’s johns and others discussing Obama, and the presidential election (going on during the days in which the film takes place), and, especially, the economic crisis. Given all the verbiage allocated to money matters, and the nature of Chelsea’s business (which is to sell herself), it’s difficult to ignore the obvious correlations between Soderbergh’s professional career and the topics of commerce and trade being discussed in the film. Soderbergh has obviously chosen a path that has him making glossy, big budget slop (Oceans all); big budget studio projects he likes (Erin Brockovich; Out of Sight), lower-range budgeted “serious” films (Che; Solaris) and these smaller “experimental” films on video (as they have been dubbed), which are, in actuality, merely attempts at lower budget cinema and are not really of an experimental nature at all (for that you have to look at a few of his earlier titles - Kafka, Schizolpolis). Full Frontal is oft derided, but is actually an excellent little film about a sick industry. Bubble (2006) has a slightly better reputation critically, and Soderbergh follows the casting formula for that film here, employing mostly non-actors.
The typecasting doesn’t stop with sex worker Grey. Chris Santos, an athletic trainer in real life, is steady as Chelsea’s live-in, athletic trainer boyfriend Chris, a fit, good-looking young man who is also in the business of selling himself to rich clients who pay him for services (friend; confidante; motivator) that extend beyond the hour spent working their bodies. Chris somehow accepts Chelsea’s job (like with an open marriage, they have rules), and is an ambitious hustler himself, trying to better his position and hawk a line of athletic wear. Marc Jacobson, a writer for New York Magazine, plays a journalist interviewing Chelsea about her vocation, a dues ex machina allowing Chelsea to be a bit more candid about her thoughts on her own life, although the result is that even he can’t manage to wheedle the “real her” out of her. Perhaps channeling James Toback, former Premiere film critic Glenn Kenny seems to relish his role as a sleazy internet escort reviewer who calls himself The Erotic Connoisseur. The scene in which he appears is funny, if a bit uncomfortable, starting with the character’s home/office (it isn’t stated), which is located in the very back of a huge discount furniture store. The rest of the cast is populated with Manhattan types - many of them evidently film industry insiders known to Soderbergh, who serve as the financeers, brokers, and movie people populating this high end world. We see and hear about private jets, luxury hotels (The W), trendy restaurants (Craftsteak and Nobu), and Chelsea’s designer taste has her shopping in swank clothing boutiques, art galleries, and jewelry stores.
Chelsea keeps meticulous notes about her dates in order to be better at her job; she dreams about her own clothing boutique; meets with her accountant; and discusses business strategy with somebody who promises to help her maximize her potential by diversifying. It’s a world where everyone is on the make, and everyone is looking to better themselves, or at least make themselves feel better. Chelsea relies on something she calls personology, a philosophy akin to astrology that’s based on reading people’s statistics. There isn’t much talk about religious belief or satisfying one’s soul with meaningful intellectual or spiritual pursuits amongst this crowd, however; it’s a world of commodities, of buying and selling, with an established pecking order those on top do not want to fall from. Being in the very heart of economic panic,the place where trades are made, they are all wondering how bad it will get. The best advice anyone seems to be able to come up with is “buy gold”.
It’s a surface world, one filled with luxuries providing immediate gratification, and in a sense the film never moves beyond the surface - certainly, there are deeper questions about who Chris and Chelsea are, as individuals and as a couple, that are never answered, unless the answer is there is nothing more to them. Sex workers are known statistically to often have troubled pasts, but regardless, the obstacles of maintaining a normalized committed relationship with someone engaged in a world of emotional and sexual illusion and delusion are certainly great, and likely worthy of a more trenchant intellectual exploration than occurs here. At one point Chris shouts at Chelsea, “this is real, this is life” or words to that effect, and receives only a disaffected or “affectless” deadened stare in return. It’s difficult to know if this is Chelsea the affectless character, Sasha the affectless actor, or Marina Ann Hantzis (Grey’s given name) the affectless porn star/person looking back, but the point is probably the same.
There is no actual sex here, and only brief, discreetly handled nudity. The film is more concerned with commerce. When Soderbergh cuts from the Erotic Connoisseur, we immediately go to a street musician playing “Everyone’s a Critic” (not the only time we see a street performer - who, after all, are artists who have to eat). If one listens to the message of this film, everyone is also a sell-out, giving away pieces of themselves in pursuit of their personal dream of success, power, wealth, and/or status. Perhaps an artist like Soderbergh, who knows what real cinema is, feels guilty about those horrific Ocean films that have allowed him to produce/justify any film he wants to make. One would hope that, quantifiable or not, there is some price to be paid for putting garbage - wrapped in a label of “entertainment” out in the world.