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sex,
lies and videotape (1989)
 
Review
Steven Soderbergh's
hailed first feature is a poetic and gloomy investigation of the three
concepts in the title explicitly, and of the dysfunctional emotional
lives of the four leads implicitly. The film feels European and New
Wave-ish, which gives it an intrinsic timelessness and explains much of
its buzz upon release; sex, lies and
videotape is far removed from the 1980s and anything else made in American
cinema during this decade. Remarkably, it features one of the Brat Pack's
lurking younger brethren, James Spader, in the thematic lead – and what a delightful,
enigmatic turn he gives, deliciously erotic and persistently
untrustworthy in essence. The real secret behind Soderbergh's
intelligent story, beyond the continuously interesting interpersonal
aspects, is the unresolved ambiguity of the Spader character. Is he
John's healthy, sensitive counterpart, or a wolf in sheep's
clothing? Or is he so complex and contradictory that his shell is
impenetrable even to Soderbergh? This, argues the young filmmaker, forms the perpetual ambivalence of
people and their relationships.
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