Secretly Great Movies: The Shape of Things.

The story you know (or don't):

Neil LaBute gained some critical notoriety at the 1997 Cannes festival for his debut film In the Company of Men, a jet-black "comedy" (it's not "ha ha" funny) about the war of the sexes, featuring a wonderfully warped debut performance by Aaron Eckhart. LaBute, originally a playwright, followed up with the similarly dark-hearted Your Friends & Neighbors, which didn't fare quite as well with critics. The Shape of Things can be seen as the third in a kind of trilogy with these movies, and like In the Company of Men it's basically a filmed version of one of LaBute's plays. It concerns a schlubby geek (Paul Rudd) who catches the eye of a tempestuous artist (Rachel Weisz).

The shocking truth:

Shocking is right: The Shape of Things doesn't have any of the bloodletting or dismemberment of a good slasher film, but it's still brutal enough to qualify for honorary horror status. LaBute's films (by which I really mean these three) basically do a demolition job on human relationships, revealing the inherent cruelty, sadism, and self-serving sociopathy underneath all the anniversary presents and self-help books. There are still good guys in his universe, but they're nearly always victims. LaBute's writing is like what Jim Thompson's books might look like if you removed all the bullets and beatings, leaving just the hideous, hideous lies.

Much has been made in recent years of the "manic pixie dream girl" archetype, as exemplified by cardboard hipster Zooey Deschanel in tripe like (500) Days of Summer. Part of what's made The Shape of Things age so well is how devilishly it subverts this trope, which hadn't even been codified yet when LaBute's film was released. Weisz's volatile character does for the MPDG what John Jarratt's murderous Aussie predator from Wolf Creek did for Crocodile Dundee, turning the cliche inside out and giving it a set of flesh-ripping teeth. That's not a knife, this is a knife.

If Zooey is Morrissey, Evelyn is Sakevi from GISM.

As Evelyn (who we first meet defacing a piece in a museum), Weisz seems to promise adventure, danger, sensuality and all that to mild-mannered Adam, who we know instantly is the kind of nice guy who has probably never had a real girlfriend, and certainly never one as comely as Weisz. When Evelyn seems genuinely interested in him, Adam can't believe his luck. The rest of the movie plays out with the fine grain of real life: Evelyn convinces Adam to get in shape and take better care of himself, and his best friends (Frederick Weller and erstwhile love interest Gretchen Mol) are initially thrilled for their singleton buddy. But as time goes by, they suspect that Evelyn is exerting too much influence over an increasingly pliable Adam, and the tension mounts.

Seriously, if you haven't seen it yet, do it. Don't read any further--just watch!

[SPOILERS AHEAD!]

In the film's "shower scene", it is revealed that Evelyn has been using Adam for her MFA thesis, treating him as clay to be sculpted into a more attractive human being by encouraging him to lose weight, wear contacts, and even get plastic surgery. In order to "work" on this raw material, she had to feign a wide range of emotions, above all her attraction to and romantic interest in him--and for the project, she has even videotaped the two of them in bed. (Ecce homo, indeed.) In her presentation, she announces that she will not be accepting Paul's marriage proposal--instead, the engagement ring will become part of the exhibition.

Well?

The Shape of Things gets incredible mileage out of this twist, which is a classic "should've seen this coming" moment. Except that nothing Evelyn does up to that point is especially egregious or beyond the pale in terms of what really goes on in everyday relationships; the idea is that this could happen to anyone. Or at least, anyone dating an art student working on a mysterious project which Adam never asks too many questions about--perhaps out of respect for a cliche (and entirely MPDG) mystical process of communion with the muses, which must remain absolutely secret until it's finished. As we find out, the truth is anything but. In its reptilian bloodlessness, the end of The Shape of Things makes the sadistic climax of Audition seem almost touching by comparison: at least Asami cares for the man she's mutilating. (The two movies would make for a great double feature.)

As Evelyn betrays Adam, so the film betrays us. As viewers, we're nearly as shocked and hurt as Paul, which is a common enough response when a film reveals that everything you've been suspending your disbelief for was, in fact, a spurious fiction. But instead of "it was just a dream", Evelyn offers the excuse that "it was just art"--in her words, "I am an artist; only that"--and our knee-jerk response is to deny her. But can we? The film manages to put us in the shoes of stodgy old art patrons confronted with modern art's bizarre innovations: is the scandal of paint dripped on a canvas really art? Or a urinal, renamed as a fountain? Or Adam?

Tracey Emin, O(MPD)G.

The film also holds out the possibility that there was a quantum of truth in Evelyn's elaborate lie: a whisper to Adam early in their courtship, which we see but don't hear. When Adam asks her about it in the film's final moments, she says that she meant it--whatever it was. The lacuna at the heart of the story lets us wonder, and fill in the blanks with free-associations from our own lives and relationships. What's authentic, and what's artifice? Are our efforts to "improve" our mates really benevolent, or coercive? Is ignorance bliss? When it comes to love, what, if anything, is real? And what do we mean by "real", anyways? The rabbit hole beckons.

[END SPOILERS]

The Shape of Things is the best kind of "smart" film: it never revels in its ability to confuse you, and it still manages to feel like a punch in the stomach while dealing entirely in ideas. And, it does it all without cheating. It's a little-seen film, and one that I imagine a lot of viewers--maybe even most of them--will finish watching in anger. But that's kind of the point, isn't it?

Mind-fudging end note:

What did LaBute do after crafting this complex and sophisticated human drama? He directed the remake of The Wicker Man. Yes, the one with Nicolas Cage. As a friend of mine so elegantly put it: "Neil LaBute's gotta eat."

"So I'm thinking, like, bigger and more hysterical." "Yeah, that sounds great."