Venus In Fur

"Venus in Fur" is a stellar achievement.

Wickedly smart and wickedly playful, Roman Polanski's adaptation of David Ives' Tony-nominated Venus in Fur works on so many levels, it's almost dizzying.

Never underestimate Roman Polanski.

The haunted-house lighting is a perfect match for the claustrophobic intimacy of this two-hander - and camouflage, perhaps, for the fact that "Venus in Fur" remains more play than film.

Whether you like it or not, Roman Polanski is a great artist, and even the minor films of his fugitive decades glimmer with the claustrophobia and sardonic bleakness of his greatest work.

It's tempting to conclude that the entire thing is a rather distasteful joke at the audience's (and the actors') expense.

[Venus in Fur] is the sexiest movie I've seen in a long time.

Perhaps he is more drawn to Mr. Ives's quasi-feminist rationalization of sexual fetish than Sacher-Masoch's explanation of it as mastery over repressed feelings, and somehow sees parallels between the play and his own sexual felony.

Polanski makes an intriguing battle of the sexes out of a filmed play

Desire makes buffoons of us all. Now strike dear mistress, and cure his heart.

It's an actor's pic, and they both come through with grand performances.