Two Lovers
By Alvaro André Zeini Cruz
Fog limits the space: little may be glimpsed of the New York skyline from the roof of the building. The surroundings corroborate with an oppression of the characters, something that will be strengthened by the scene’s setting, by the bodies that oppose each other. Leonard (Joaquim Phoenix) abandons the role of the pawn that he was used to playing whenever he was with Michelle (Gwyneth Paltrow) to, at last, become master of the situation. He places her, literally, up against the wall. She, who up to now had been using him, and who is now watching her world fall apart, for a split second looks at the camera, as if asking for help or some other interference; for either she must give herself to he whom she has called her brother, or run the risk of losing her last rock of salvation at a difficult time in her life. He declares his love; she, seeing that she has no choice, allows herself to be kissed. The sex happens there and then, with her besieged, pressed up against the wall, whilst he sees in her fragility the perfect opportunity for his most desperate attempt to win her heart. It is a lovers’ tryst, but it could well be a game of chess at the exact moment of checkmate. The roles are reversed, not without reason, the director James Gray allows himself to film the sex in a close-up focused on the characters’ faces, in other words, on that which is really important to the film.
For Two Lovers is a film that seeks out the face, the expression, the minimal gesture; the way in which Leonard puts his hands into his pockets the first time he meets Michelle, or the look of almost puerile excitement that he gives the window when the light from Michelle’s apartment invades his bedroom. Leonard is, in truth, an adolescent trapped in the body of an apparently mature man, but whom, however, seeks to evade the conformity that has been imposed on him. This reflects in his actions, whether in the infantile voyeurism of his platonic passion which makes him creep around the bedroom so as not to be seen, or in the sneaky escape in the dead of night simply so that his parents do not notice his absence. Michelle, more than just the object of his love, represents subversion, a return to that which he had, but lost, an escape from the zeal of his parents, a way for him to rediscover himself.
But Michelle is cruel and plays a game of cat and mouse. She does not want Leonard as a man, but she wants him for support; she doesn’t want the sex, but she gives herself to him knowing how important the sex is to keep him at her side. Later on, she appears at her apartment window, high up, distant, surrounded by iron bars. She makes contact with Leonard and from her “tower” shows him her breasts. She is not stupid; she knows that she must provoke his passion/obsession, whilst at the same time remaining almost unreachable. Leonard allows himself to be taken in, whilst at the same time conducting a relationship with Sandra (Vinessa Shaw), along similar lines to that which he has with Michelle, although once again the roles are reversed: if Michelle uses Leonard, he does the same to Sandra. Not because he doesn’t like the girl, nor to try to hurt Michelle, but because he knows that between having the dream (Michelle), the possible (Sandra), and nothing, it is better to keep a card up your sleeve.
When it comes down to the wire, this is what is important to the film: possible choices, imposed choices, no choices. At one point, Leonard stands looking out to sea. When the waves break at his feet, he realises that what he had tried at an earlier point in the plot (suicide), is no longer an option. He picks up the pieces and goes home. Maybe he has grown up, maybe not. The fact is he has conformed himself, his restlessness has been laid to rest and, from the few options he was given, he chose what was possible; even if the possible doesn’t exactly mean fulfilment or happiness.
