scentuous.

Speaking of sexual episodes at a public execution*: last night I saw Perfume, the adaptation of the book by German novelist Patrick Süskind. There may be some spoilers in the following post (and I can't figure out the code for expanded-summary posts), so skip this one if you're concerned.

I started reading the novel a little over a year ago, and didn't get very far. Süskind's style of writing- an old-timey oxymoron of twee lasciviousness- rubbed me the wrong way and made it hard for me to take the story seriously. Luckily, Tom Tykwer's (Run Lola Run, The Princess and the Warrior) screen adaptation is able to keep the lightheartedness of the source material, but also lend it the gravitas that the narrative deserves. Perfume: The Story of a Murderer is the tale of Jean-Baptiste Grenouille (the decidedly dreamy Ben Whitshaw)- a young man born with a tortuously keen sense of smell- and the obsessive and murderous journey this gift/curse causes him to take.

Set around the time of the French Revolution, the scenery, cinematography, soundtrack, costumes and women are all devastatingly lush and gorgeous. Conversely, Whitsaw's star-making turn is restrained yet perverse. The impact of his character's laconicism is two-fold: when Grenouille does speak, the influence of his words carries much more weight, and the simple fact that Whitshaw can convey the complexity of his character through facial expressions and some drawn-out inhalations speaks volumes to his talent as an actor.

*The anti-climax to the story is an all-out orgy in the public square, the site of a failed execution. The scene made me think of Saddam and Nïn, and I joined the rest of the sparse theater crowd in giggling and squirming nervously in my seat, though I think for reasons other than theirs. Sans that seemingly misplaced scene, however, I loved every minute of the film. Visceral reactions seemed to be Tykwer's goal with this project, and it's one he achieved with considerable fervor and aplomb.