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There's More to 'The Duke of Burgundy' Than Lesbians Pissing on Each Other

Peter Strickland's latest film is an insightful, layered look at relationships that contains a few conversation-starting scenes.

The most talked-about moment in The Duke of Burgundy doesn't actually happen onscreen. From the other side of a bathroom door, we can only listen as domineering lepidopterist Cynthia (Sidse Babett Knudsen) instructs the servant she's just hired (Chiara D'Anna) to lie down. Evelyn hasn't done an especially thorough job of washing her mistress's underwear, so it's time for her to be disciplined. "Open your mouth," Cynthia says. Then a streaming wet sound can be heard.

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Two salient details come to light shortly thereafter. One is that the woman on the receiving end of this piss punishment isn't actually a hired maid, but Cynthia's live-in girlfriend. The other is that the kinky couple's little performance is a part of their daily routine. Evelyn pretends to wash Cynthia's boots outside, idling away the last few moments until Cynthia hits her cue and reprimands her once more.

The Duke of Burgundy takes place entirely in a world of writer-director Peter Strickland's imagining, making it much more pleasant than it probably sounds with all of its piss drinking and domination. Strickland creates this world with vaguely anachronistic costumes, inventive sound design, and processed visuals. The opening credits grip you with colorful freeze-frames that show different stages of a butterfly's development montaged with shots of Evelyn making her way home on a bicycle. Everything is set to an ethereal tune by Cat's Eyes that give the inaugural sequence a foreboding weight, which is offset by little gestures of playfulness, such as a fictitious "perfume by Je suis Gizella" credit (it's probably not a real perfume company, however, there was a real Gisela of Burgundy). Strickland has described this kind of fine-tuning as turning "dead informational space" into an integral aspect of the overall experience, and it's part of what makes The Duke of Burgundy such a rich, textured environment. He exerts control over every element of the film, but always with a light touch.

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What takes longer to emerge than the filmmaker's distinct aesthetic is that one of the sapphic lovers isn't all that into the role-playing lifestyle—and it's probably not the one you're guessing. Strickland slowly shifts our sympathies from one character to the other without casting either half of this increasingly fractured whole as the villain. We start out naturally inclined to think the more dominant Cynthia may be going overboard, but gradually learn that her would-be submissive partner is behind most of their carefully planned activities. Needy and a bit immature, she asks to be locked in a trunk as she sleeps and meticulously guides her lover's dirty talk. Cynthia, meanwhile, just seems like she'd like to have a normal night of cuddling and pillow talk every once in a while.

The disconnect is just as strong when, a few scenes later, when the two attend a sort of butterfly convention (this time at Cynthia's behest) and Evelyn asks one of the presenters a question. It's a perfectly reasonable query to any layperson, but for the experts in attendance, it's a bit of an eye-roller. Cynthia is visibly embarrassed, and shoots Evelyn a look of disapproval. They make up later, as they always seem eager to, but something's amiss in their union and they both know it.

The butterfly motif is ever-present (including the title), most notably in a hallucinatory sequence that temporarily dislodges the narrative and enters the realm of the abstract. Hundreds of winged creatures flood the screen, their movements loud and inescapable. Then it's over, and things return to normal. Strickland's last movie, the aurally-inclined giallo homage Berberian Sound Studio, was a great exercise in atmosphere and style. But it didn't quite come together as a narrative. He has clear influences in both the exploitation and avant-garde spheres, and weds them more seamlessly here. The Duke of Burgundy is simultaneously out there and reined in.

For all its seeming licentiousness, there's no actual nudity or graphic sex in the film. Nor are there any men. (There are a few mannequins glimpsed during one of Cynthia's aurelian conventions, however.) The Duke of Burgundy isn't a faux-transgressive attention-grabber meant to titillate and exploit, but rather an insightful look at the give-and-take inherent in all relationships through an admittedly unusual lens. Strickland's skill is in how quickly he normalizes the proceedings, neither condescending to his characters nor using their inclinations for cheap laughs. He sympathizes with their struggles to reconcile their differences and understands their needs even better than they do. Everyone should be so lucky.