Passagesis the years strongest, sexiest acting showcase.
Its best performances rely on one body part in particular.
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It isnt glossy or hermetically sealed.
This is evident from the jump.
Bodies slink in and out of the shadows.
Electronic grooves pop across the soundscape.
Its my party and my husband doesnt want to dance with me, Tomas says.
Agathe offers to dance in Martins stead.
Tomas in his tight midnight-black sweater, skin peeking through the knitting.
Agathe in a textured top of ripe magenta.
Around and toward each other, they saunter, smile, flirt, groove.
Its in wordless gestures that the arrival of a torrid affair makes itself known.
As he rolls his shoulders, a downright lycanthropic grin cuts across his face.
When Martin leaves abruptly, the warm machinations that play across Tomass face seem to sharpen Rogowskis features.
In his back, there is tension and trepidation.
I should have called, he shouts to Martin in the kitchen.
As he joins his husband, the camera finds Martins face over Tomass shoulder, his muscles softening.
I had sex with a woman, Tomas confesses, his cautiousness giving way to relish.
His incandescent quality that complicates the cruelty.
Martins kindness that doubles as a longing for respect that is never met.
The harshness of Tomas, the tenderness of Martin.
When Tomas fucks Agathe again near his editing room, his back is the focal point.
This is a fuck about pleasure, but its also an escape from something and into something else entirely.
Theyre sloppy, loud.
The muscles in Rogowskis back flex with force.
Every thrust is a physical representation of his hungry desperation.
Rogowski wears desire like a fine leather trench coat.
No, thats not quite right.
It isnt something he puts on, then casts off.
Its a part of him, an extension of his being.
A second skin so tight it doesnt feel second to anything at all.
There is no such thing as sated for a man like this.
The face of an actor is usually the greatest visual terrain in film.
The power in this moment is in Hitchcocks and cinematographer Ted Tetzlaffs decisions more so than Grants.
Cinemas greatest back actor is Golden Age Hollywoods Medusa, Bette Davis.
Daviss ability to communicate fire and fury often gets her misidentified as an actor defined by histrionics.
But Davis is a performer who could bring remarkable subtlety to bold, larger-than-life moments.
AsSheila OMalley arguesinFilm Comment, You want to know how a character has transformed?
Watch Davis walk across a room.
You want to understand a characters objective?
Look at Davis posture, or how she lights a cigarette, or where she places her hands.
OMalley goes on to extol the glory of Daviss wordless acting moments in the 1940 William Wylerdirected noirThe Letter.
Theyre discussing the contempt that has curdled their marriage.
Her back is tight, her steps forceful.
The girl that loved this man.
Dance was foundational for Davis.
Now I was taught a syntax with which to articulate the subtleties fully.
[Graham] would with a single thrust of her weight convey anguish.
Then in an anchored lift that made her ten feet tall, she became all joy.
One after the other.
Hatred, ecstasy, rage, compassion!
There was no end once the body was disciplined.
Rogowski was himself a dancer.
I think theater is quite challenging for me.
Its such a huge space, and you have to shout and scream and everything is so intense.
When you create silence in between your lines, its something that in cinema works very differently.
Maybe Im just too shy for theater.
This approach to the body is evident in Rogowskis work inPassageseven when he seems to barely move.
Whereas Rogowskis back is endlessly taut, Whishaws has a sorrowful elegance crucial to understanding Martin.
As his and Tomass marriage fractures at breakneck speed, they retreat to their quaint countryside home.
Martin, in a wisp of a sheer red robe, sits on the bed.
His back, his whole being, is still.
The suggestion, the hope of sexual connection, dims as the seconds tick by.
Martins face is clipped by disappointment as he turns off his lamp: Night night.
Harsh cut to the slate-blue light of the day beginning to dawn.
Can you really say youre in love with me?
Tomas asks Martin, the formers clothed back at the center of the frame now, slumped and unmoving.
So now youre falling in love with someone else, youre taking that risk?
Of course, Tomas feels the urge to reassert his primacy in Martins life as a result.
His presence is a dare to Martin.
Martin stares at him, taking in the decision that is now a foregone conclusion.
Within the span of a breath and an editorial cut, Martin and Tomas are having sex.
Theres something ravenous, needy in this fuck.
The next morning, Tomas is tangled in the sheets of their bed.
His bare back is the cameras focal point with only a portion of his profile seen in medium shot.
Agathe is pregnant, he says unceremoniously to an offscreen Martin.
Can Tomas have it all Martin, Agathe, and their child?
For a moment, it seems he may.
They all convene at the countryside home, where Tomas demonstrates utter disregard for Agathes emotional life.
Alone in bed, she overhears Tomas and Martin in the throes of playful passion.
Much later, Agathe reveals to Martin the abortion Tomas has been hiding from him.
Between the two of you, I would disappear, she says.
The final ruptures in these relationships are now unavoidable for Tomas.
And I dont want to be in it anymore.
When the camera finally gets to his face, Martin is as unvarnished as ever.
An anxiety that speaks to how consuming Tomas can be: I dont want to see you again.
Im not interested in you anymore …
I want my life back, and I dont want you in it.
So Tomas rushes to interrupt Agathes class in hopes of not being left all alone.
But she rejects him: Look at you.
Its like youre not even the same person.
In the sculpture of his back, one can find truth.
