Once you go Pho2, There’s no Joe to go back to
An ironic epitome of a film, Nymphomaniac Vol. 2 is continued ridiculous absurdum, yet totally worth watching.
To begin, lessons I learned:
#1. Shia Labeouf can act, so he should burn that paper bag.
#2. I needn’t have hidden that oh so cute teaspoon in my jacket pocket at TGIFridays.
#3. Porn producers should use Beethoven as background music to improve their cred.
#4. Cain and Abel probably missed out on some good action due to one upmanship quarrels.
But seriously folks, Nymphomaniac 2 works for three specific reasons (sorry for all the numbers, but math did play into the equation of the plot, hence I’m redeemed):
One–the cliff hanger of Nympho 1 when Joe claims she no longer feels orgasm combined with the nagging wonder if Seligman would take a pass at Joe, as one (or more) man + Joe (with the odd exception of Willem Dafoe) = sex.
(Aside: I now know what my pouty face looks like when a date claims he’s a non-drinker who can’t fathom the utter bliss of a fresh lime juice margarita based on Joe’s puss when Seligman reveals he’s asexual, which is totally ironic given the film’s end which I promise only to vaguely allude to in my third reason the movie works).
Two– the dual story of Joe’s nympho history juxtaposed with her relationship to super listener Seligman. Without respite from child neglect, s& m, etc. in the quiet dark space of Seligman’s house, the movie just wouldn’t work.
Three: The ending is satisfying by making us ponder what true friendship means and are all humans existentially and emotionally sterile. One thing is a definite; timing is everything when it comes to quid pro quo. To discover the meaning of that statement, check out Nympho 2, but only after the attentional foreplay of Nympho 1.
Still a von Trier fan,