Irreversible

This should be banned and it should be praised. There are scenes of sexual violence that go beyond the shock barrier into areas of obscenity. They are unwatchable and yet you watch. What does that make writer/director Gaspar Noé? A pornographer, or a genius?

As a piece of cinema, even as a work of art, Irreversible is astonishing. It begins at the end and works back. The opening scenes in the dungeon gay club, where Marcus (Vincent Cassel) seeks out the man who raped and battered Alex (Monica Bellucci), his girlfriend, almost to death, is from Dante's Inferno, the camera careening in circles in the dim half light as the soundtrack roars like a gale. Language disembowels decency and becomes a weapon against the senses. Acts of sodomy are glimpsed in the shadows.

And then there is the rape itself in a dank tunnel under the street, where Alex is attacked while walking home after a party, at which she had a row with Marcus. The camera remains stationary for nine minutes, recording every moment. It is merciless, more like a snuff movie than hard core voyeurism. The acting is fierce and realistic.

As the film progresses, the story unfolds in reverse sequence. You come to know Alex long after she has been violated and the story of her and Marcus and Pierre (Albert Dupontel), who used to be her boyfriend and is now an academic, reveals itself in snatches, ending, or rather beginning, in blissful harmony.

The message is that there is no certainty. The flip side of joy is anguish. At any time, without warning, security can be shattered. Evil lurks underground and when it comes to the surface all hell breaks loose.

David Lynch was playing with the same tools in Blue Velvet, only Noé's are uglier. This is a film that breaks new ground. You don't want to be here, but cannot help but admire the method.