In the Cut (2003) * *

Directed by:  Jane Campion

Starring:  Meg Ryan, Mark Ruffalo, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Kevin Bacon, Nick Damici, Sharrieff Pugh


Thank goodness a whodunit was inserted (no pun intended) into the middle of the lives of these mostly sex-obsessed people.    It breaks up the monotony.    If they aren't thinking about sex, they are talking about it, dreaming about it, or actually doing it.   Then, after the act, they talk more about what just happened.     The women act like they arrived direct from a Tennessee Williams play, and the male characters recite dialogue during sex which sounds similar to what a male porn star would say when he's banging his leading lady.

We are left with a confused movie.    Does it want to be soft porn or a murder mystery?    The murder mystery is slightly more compelling, while the sex scenes are shot in maddening soft focus which is supposed to be steamy, but instead makes me wonder if the camera was working right.     In the Cut represents Meg Ryan's first onscreen nudity after years of cheerful romantic comedies.    The nudity draws so much attention to itself, it reminds me of the awkward revealing of Halle Berry's breasts in Swordfish and Julie Andrews in SOB.    The nudity feels like a stunt and thus loses its eroticism.

Ryan is Frannie Avery, a high school English teacher whose sex life is unfulfilling.    She slept with a weirdo recently in John Graham (Bacon), who calls her relentlessly to find out why she dumped him.  Hint:  Maybe it's the incessant phone calls.     One day at a bar (in which she accompanies one of her students-also not a great idea), she goes to find the bathroom and stumbles upon a man and a woman having ravenous sex in the dark, with just enough lighting for her to see a tiny tattoo on the man's right wrist.    The woman is soon found dead, with her decapitated head in Frannie's apartment complex's garden.

The detective assigned to the case, Giovanni Malloy (Ruffalo), suspects a serial killer and this is soon confirmed with the deaths of two more women, including Frannie's sister Pauline (Leigh), who lives above a strip club and has a restraining order against her from her therapist.    Despite the possibility that the murders could've been committed by Frannie or even Malloy, they have down and dirty sex  with lots of heavy panting and soft core porn dialogue.    I'm not sure it's a great idea for Malloy to have sex with a possible suspect, but he must've seen Sea of Love and figured it would all turn out ok.    The Frannie and Malloy affair goes on far longer than it should because, when evidence turns up which may implicate Malloy, Frannie doesn't bother asking about it or discussing it.    Maybe she is attracted to the danger, or she just didn't want the movie to end just yet.

This is the first Meg Ryan role which attempts to showcase her sexuality for the first time on screen.   Usually, she would play perky, smiling, sexless types who gives off a sisterly vibe, but in In the Cut she is all Maggie the Cat, including walking around in a slip in her hot apartment.   The only thing missing is the Southern accent.     I suppose she doesn't have an air conditioner in her place, which should give her another reason to move after a disembodied head was found nearby.

The love scenes want to be Steamy and the characters aren't just wounded, but Wounded.    The actors are skilled enough to make these folks more intriguing than they should be.    I enjoyed Ruffalo's hardened police detective cynicism and his unapologetic crudity.    It at least gives Malloy a bit of an edge that makes him a little more electric than the rest.     But, then the movie devolves into flashbacks, tiresome sex scenes, and Frannie (who is intelligent) suddenly turning into a dope when the script requires it and allowing herself to be put into dangerous situations.    The ending plays fair with the rules of a whodunit, and it is refreshing to see Frannie have to fight to survive with no help forthcoming from anyone else.    But, after that resolution, we see Frannie hitchhiking down the expressway covered in blood and somehow managing to walk all the way home without anyone stopping to see why she is, well, covered in blood.