Evelyn (Chiara D’Anna) in The Duke of Burgundy (Sundance Selects)

Isn’t it amazing how the most unique, unconventional relationships generally, when put under a microscope, turn out to be stunningly normal? Awash with neuroses, expectations, disappointments, they undergo the cycle of infatuation and desire that slowly ebbs into the routine. You can see the cracks and fissures sprout and grow. This seems to be what director Peter Strickland is going for in his soft focus (but not really soft-core) study of lesbian S-and-M lepidopterists (that’s butterfly experts, for us common folk).

He teases out a typical S-and-M trope. The young maid bicycles to an older woman’s house. She performs her service, though never to the older woman’s particular satisfaction, so, of course, punishment commences. Cynthia (Sidse Babett Knudsen) is the older woman and Evelyn (Chiara D’Anna), the younger, compliant one. After some time, we are let into the intricacies of their relationship. They are clearly deeply in love, and there’s tenderness throughout. Evelyn is in awe of Cynthia, who, feeling her age, is happy if worn out by her lover’s increasing demands. Eventually, the pressures overwhelm the two.

What differentiates the couple is, of course, the nature of their relationship. Evelyn likes to sleep bound in a chest at the foot of the bed. Cynthia occasionally wants to wear comfortable clothes, but, afraid of losing Evelyn, she continues to wear the sensuous, if uncomfortable, corsets and stockings. Aside from that, what should make their relationship compelling are the women themselves. And in that, unfortunately, the premise fails. It’s not the fault of the acting, which is superb. The writing varies from the mundane to clever, but the film just never grabs and remains emotionally distant. And it’s not for want of trying. The production design is utterly exquisite, the cinematography is gorgeous, the scenes move along with crispness and clarity, and yet….

If I can attempt to put my finger on it, I would say that Strickland wrote a story about a fetishistic relationship that fetishizes everything BUT the relationship. So these two very dimensional characters are adrift in a fantasy world that is deliberately filmic. The style nods to ’70’s soft-core and Hammer films with a touch of Vittorio De Sica’s The Garden of the Finzi-Continis and the like. Add the photography of Helmut Newton for some spice and you get the picture. But it creates a sense of distance that the actors cannot gulf. So, you are left looking at a beautiful film that is much about a beautiful film than it is anything else.

On occasion, a moment punches through, such as when Evelyn safe words her way out of the closed chest in the middle of the night because she has to scratch a mosquito bite. The moment superbly demystifies a lifestyle that can be overly romanticized or considered exotic. And the last 20 minutes pick up considerably, if only because it tips into actual pretentiousness as opposed to the faux-pretentiousness we have been subject to so far. (And, in my book, between the two, I will always go for the actual, and much more interesting, pretentious.)

And then there are the visual metaphors and the endless shots of butterflies and moths that are meant, I suppose, to create some parallel between the two women. But it’s so diffuse, it’s hard to tell. Strickland does get off some gorgeous shots of the insects, though.

Oh, and the house. The mansion this couple resides in is absurdly stately and beautiful. It’s a character in itself. So, if you are looking for titillation, that’s the best you’ll get: real estate porn. Seriously, the house is just stunning.