Nymphomaniac

Lars von Trier is one of contemporary cinema’s most notorious auteurs, and Nymphomaniac is an over-the-top showcase of many of his obsessions and indulgences.

This unsettling yet provocative epic is certain to be polarizing, as usual, for the eccentric Danish director who aims to outrage and shock viewers with graphic sex and sometimes gratuitous tales of debauchery.

But considering the title and the filmmaker, what do you expect? Von Trier (Melancholia) at least deserves credit for audacity as he pushes the envelope perhaps further than he ever has before.

The story is told in eight chapters, with some vignettes better than others. Plus, with its hefty running time, Nymphomaniac has been split into two parts for its domestic release. It’s best to see them both.

It follows Joe, played by newcomer Stacy Martin in her younger days and Charlotte Gainsbourg (Jane Eyre) in the present day, as a woman found beaten in the street by an intellectual (Stellan Skarsgard) who nurses her back to health while listening to her life story in flashbacks.

She reveals a volatile past loaded with sex and violence, including her relationships with an arrogant businessman (Shia LeBeouf), an S&M fanatic (Jamie Bell), a spurned mother (Uma Thurman) and a teenage girl (Mia Goth) who becomes a protégé of sorts.

While avoiding overt misogyny, the film is meticulously constructed and deliberately paced, focused on mundane details and loaded with symbolism and metaphors. Von Trier again employs some eclectic casting choices and visual gimmicks to get his points across. Then there’s the requisite weirdness, as he finds ways to connect his story to everything from fly fishing to the Fibonacci Sequence.

As a study of nymphomania, the film doesn’t offer much insight at face value. Still, it’s more than just mischievous soft-core eroticism, but rather a frequently powerful glimpse into addiction and perversion that eventually offers up several theories to explain Joe’s destructive personality and self-loathing vulnerability.

She makes for a fascinating character — shallow and manipulative, yet morally conflicted and emotionally troubled — who is ultimately a tragic figure seeking redemption and empowerment. Gainsbourg and Martin each offer bold portrayals.

Von Trier’s message becomes muddled amid all the narrative sprawl, as he speaks of hypocrisy and censorship, and both defiantly and playfully attacks cinematic prudishness. It’s meant to be outrageous, and it winds up stimulating in ways you wouldn’t expect.

Not rated, 241 minutes.