I saw this movie more than ten years ago on television - late at night, by myself. It was one of those movies that you watch insomniac - not really wanting to commit yourself to a narrative that might keep you from sleep - and it started so slowly I was sure I'd found the cure for my sleeplessness. The story begins with quiet, suburban Rosie (Saskia Reeves) learning that her slimebag husband has been screwing her sexy, more confident friend. Summoning the courage to leave him, but uncertain of what to do with herself, she takes their two children with her to stay at a peaceful seaside cottage with a husband and wife who are sympathetic friends of hers. Removed from the security of her suburban world, the edges of Rosie's personality begin to fray - she comes on to the husband with no provocation, for example, and develops a "L'Etranger" alienation from human communication and the world. When a horrific, freak accident kills both of her children, Rosie comes completely adrift. Plagued by guilt and driven further away from meaningful human communication, she undergoes a reverse-liberation - punishing herself for crimes she hasn't committed, Rosie forces herself into prostitution, as if to push herself into a vigorous, inhumane sexuality in order purge her own self from her skin. There's one particularly harrowing scene when Rosie, dressed like a slut, has sex with a creepy, middle-aged man, and flushes the money he gives her down the toilet. There's redemption for Rosie, and confrontation with her husband, but I won't spoil the film too much, as I remember enjoying my gradual process of engrossment in Rosie's story. Not exactly a great family film, nor something you'd probably even watch with someone else, but if it comes up on the box when it's late, you're up and alone, get comfortable and sink into it. Weird, creepy, slow, and, ten years later, remembered as very absorbing.
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