At first glance, “Love Lies Bleeding” might look like another Americana-steeped tale of lovers on the run. But a look beyond its sleek hardbodies reveals that director Rose Glass has once again made a monster movie, albeit one of a different character than the spiritual possession in her scorching debut “Saint Maud.” Here, Glass finds a Gothic-tinged tale of passion and pride burning brightly amidst the embers of the eighties.
“Love Lies Bleeding” might not map as neatly to the Frankenstein myth as other recent films, but Glass and co-writer Weronika Tofilska do not seem overly concerned with paying direct homage. Instead, it’s a lens through which to view the transformative bond that grows between introverted gym owner Lou (Kristen Stewart) and vagabond bodybuilder Jackie (Katy O’Brian), who stumbles into her facility. Their immediate connection defies the familiar adage about soulmates that two become one. Instead, their love is an additive one—primarily through Jackie’s bulking that pushes beyond the realm of the human in more ways than just her physicality.
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With the help of some questionable steroids floating around the gym, Jackie begins a slow transformation into the grotesque. Her body begins absorbing the feelings of her lover, starting with her sexual ecstasy but gradually expanding to her darker and innermost desires. Lou harbors intense resentment toward her domestic abusing brother-in-law J.J. (a sensationally scuzzy Dave Franco) as well as her crime kingpin father Lou Sr. (Ed Harris), but she leaves those feelings on a low simmer. Her learned helplessness comes from many sources including, but not limited to, the AIDS era’s queer repression—an introversion portrayed masterfully through Stewart’s command of conveying introverted anxiety.
Yet as Jackie’s veins pulsate and the muscles throb ever more visibly, she begins amassing power not just from Lou but from the milieu around her. The world of “Love Lies Bleeding” is not one of direct fidelity to 1989, littered with specific signifies—instead, Glass bottles up the essence of an era in its phallic extensions and projections. The guns and syringes make the most visible examples, but Jackie also absorbs the psychic dimensions of a machismo-addled culture. She internalizes the latent values of addiction and achievement at all costs. At her most fearsome, Jackie becomes the human embodiment of the inspirational poster slogans lining the walls of Lou’s gym.
The insatiable drive for more ties together the infatuation of the couple and the excess of their surroundings. As the Berlin Wall falls on the television behind them, a new symbolic extension of American values rises. But Jackie represents the values the country holds, not just the ones it professes outwardly. She grows mightiest when serving as a vicious agent of revenge for Lou, who’s brought along for the wild ride because she can no longer untangle amorous affection from bloodlust.
Glass once again crafts a compelling tale of transformation through obsession, though “Love Lies Bleeding” steers harder in the direction of pulpy fun than the agonizing torment of “Saint Maud.” Some of the film is messy by design as it plumbs the darkest crevasses of the human heart, finding impulsiveness rather than intentionality lurking there. But as Glass jumps a weight class in filmmaking with more expressive tools at her disposal, she sacrifices some of the clarity with which she ties the internal world of her characters to their external circumstances.
Her stabs at Lynchian surrealism (“Lost Highway” seems to be a particularly strong influence) and Cronenbergian body horror contribute to the oozing sensation of rowdy unpredictability, but the use of cinematic shorthand too often feels like a shortcut. “Love Lies Bleeding” reaches the pinnacle of its form when Glass trusts her own skillful vision to carry the day. She can send shivers up the spine from a single cutaway to a bloodied body or just a skin-crawling extended interaction with Lou’s obsessed admirer Daisy (Anna Baryshnikov in top form). Underlying it all is a propulsive score from Clint Mansell, bringing the same amount of sonic tension as he does to collaborations with Darren Aronofsky.
The rabble-rousing enthusiasm of the enterprise carries it throughout, allowing the raucous vibes to paper over some thin characterization. The script, which is often content to remain skin-deep, just does not pack the same muscle as the directorial verve. “Love Lies Bleeding” can coast on violence and vibes for long stretches. When sizing up the whole enterprise, it’s not unlike the bodybuilder the camera ogles with awe. These are sleek, well-oiled machines always pushing themselves to the extreme. But once the flexing stops, there’s that lingering question of what all that effort is really for beyond its own glorification. [B]
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