The Center of the World

By DENNIS HARVEY

Peter Sarsgaard and Molly Parker play unlikely lovers in wayne Wang's "The Center of the World," released by Artisan.

An Artisan Entertainment release. Produced by Peter Newman, Wayne Wang. Executive producers, Greg Johnson, Ira Deutchman. Co-producers, Francey Grace, Heidi Levitt, Andrew Loo. Directed by Wayne Wang. Screenplay, Ellen Benjamin Wong, from a story by Wang, Miranda July, Paul Auster, Siri Hustvedt.
 
Richard Longman - Peter Sarsgaard
Florence - Molly Parker
Jerri - Carla Gugino
Brian Pivano - Balthazar Getty

 

Wayne Wang's "The Center of the World" is sure to invite comparisons to "Last Tango in Paris" and other envelope pushers in the Sexual Content Dept. Neither major objet d'art nor glorified hunk o' softcore kitsch, "Center" emerges a fairly sexy, serious-minded drama hobbled by its lack of real conceptual ambition. Limited play prospects for the unrated Artisan release, mixed reviews and buzz wet-blanketing over its relative non-sensationalism will likely curtail hometurf theatrical. Abroad, and in later ancillary biz, pic should carve out decent biz as a thoughtful little date movie for sophisticated auds.

In contrast to most upscale sex drama efforts, "Center" expends considerable effort on viewing the "world" from both sides of the usual gender equation. While the basic premise here is familiar to a fault -- lonely guy holes up with professional dream girl for the weekend in Las Vegas -- Wang's artful approach makes the carnal gameplaying a lightning rod for psychological vulnerabilities. On the downside, those insights stop short of deeper resonance.

Feature commences as lead characters check into their luxury Vegas hotel suite, a sequence intercut with flashbacks of the events that led to this point. Richard (Peter Sarsgaard) is an L.A.-based computer engineer who has been slaving in solitude, prepping his dot-com startup. Now he's overdue, even desperate, to have some fun.

Thus he's courted Florence (Molly Parker), stripper and lap-dancer, to accompany him on a hedonistic getaway -- all expenses paid, natch, not least her own fee. Flo isn't tempted at first, as she draws a hard line between her personal life and professional persona. But Richard's proffered $10,000 for 72 hours' "work" ultimately proves hard to resist, especially since that sum could bankroll the riot grrl-style rock band that Flo views as her true calling.

The trip must proceed on her terms, however, and those are as detailed as a prenuptial contract.

But it's soon evident that Richard desires companionship and romance as much as sexual gratification. It's also clear he's not mature enough to distinguish among all three, despite Flo's frequent reminder that her love goddess routine is "all an act ... You know that, right?" She's not entirely invulnerable, either; Richard's puppyish, eager-to-please demeanor makes full "workplace" detachment hard to sustain.

Pic's tension derives from the ambivalent nature of their relationship. Less-than-satisfying fade brings things full circle (whether it's a flashback or a flash-forward, Wang leaves fuzzy), suggesting these characters aren't quite done with one another.

Nonetheless, "Center of the World" doesn't soften the transactional nature of their interlude by making love a real possibility a la "Leaving Las Vegas." To Wang's credit, lead characters remain credible and sympathetic (if somewhat stereotypical), even when their actions prove hurtful.

This earnest edge is most striking in the sex scenes, which are numerous and explicit, yet always alert to the role playing, subtle negotiation and fragile personal boundaries underpinning all surface titillation. (Despite Wang's teasing remarks in recent interviews that he was "prepared to ask them to 'do it' for real," principal thesps perform nothing X-worthy, and body doubles are prominently credited at end scroll.)

Results are duly erotic, precisely because -- for once -- simple voyeurism is displaced by a more realistic, plaintive sense of both participants' unspoken fears.

Script credited to "Ellen Benjamin Wong" (a joint pseudonym for collaborators Wang, Paul Auster and Siri Hustvedt) is spare, delicate and evanescent, qualities that work well as far as they go. Yet, ultimately, "Center" seems a beguiling featurette stretched to feature length.

Subsidiary characters -- notably Carla Gugino, potent as damaged hooker friend of Flo's, plus Balthazar Getty as Richard's exasperated biz partner -- turn up too briefly.

We do suss both protags as complex individuals with overlapping (if essentially incompatible) needs. Still, "Center" overplays ambiguity, with result that at the end we're still not at all sure what makes Richard and Flo tick, or indeed whether they've impacted each another at all.

Roughly comparable pics like "Tango," "Las Vegas," "Bad Timing" or even "9-1/2 Weeks" left no doubt that their central figures are stirred and shaken by amour fou. "The Center of the World," by contrast, leaves little more emotional residue than an afternoon quickie between consenting adults.

Under Wang's sensitive direction, the principals come very close to creating 3-D characters. Both are attractive without being Hollywood-gorgeous in face or form. Canny casting is further underlined by their shared ability to project conflicted thought processes.

Parker ("Kissed," "Sunshine") strongly limns the cautious self-determination of a young woman who's "in it for the money," yet far from mercenary, amoral or uncaring. Perhaps pic's most impressive aspect is its successful pitching of "the world's oldest profession" as a problematic but viable personal choice: No one is exploiting Florence, who is far from the usual doomed, drug-addled or airheaded prostie figure seen on screen.

Sarsgaard ("Boys Don't Cry") contribs even more nuanced work as a manchild-ish introvert. Arriving just when the dot-com boom has gone bust, "Center's" high-tech nouveau riche angle may strike some viewers as already dated, but in the long run will add a creditable specificity of time/place.

Mauro Fiore's digital-vid camerawork is agile and intimate, abetting pic's chamber-scaled variations on the textural sensuality Wang explored earlier in his ambitious, flawed, yet affecting, "Chinese Box."

Likewise, editor Lee Percy lends the splintered narrative structure and shifting p.o.v. a poetical fluidity. As usual with Wang's more personal projects, soundtrack boasts a stimulating range of global dance, pop and folk sounds. The 35mm transfer retains a vidish feel, presumably by stylistic choice.

Camera (color, HD vid-to-35mm), Mauro Fiore; editor, Lee Percy; music supervisor, Deva Anderson; production designer, Donald Graham Burt; art director, Diana Kunce; set decorator, Lydia Simon; costume designer, Sophie de Rakoff Carbonell; sound, (Dolby), James Steube; assistant director, Jonathan McGarry; casting, Heidi Levitt, Kris Nicolau. Reviewed at AMC Kabuki 8, San Francisco, March 28, 2001. (In San Francisco Film Festival.) Running time: 86 MIN.
 

With: Shane Edelman, Karry Brown, Alisha Klass, Mel Gorham, Lisa Newlan, Jason McCabe Calacanis, Travis Miljan, Jerry Sherman, Pat Morita, Robert Lefkowitz, John Lombardo, Kathy Florez, Barbara Ann, Ian Gomez.