Graham Haught/Staff

Like a lot of porn, Rob Epstein and Jeffrey Friedman’s “Lovelace” is anticlimactic, aimless and extremely unsexy. The film follows the young Linda Boreman (Amanda Seyfried), better known as “Linda Lovelace,” who left her repressive Catholic parents (played by Robert Patrick and Sharon Stone, unrecognizable in an excellent yet entirely fruitless Oscar bid) for the abusive Chuck Traynor (Peter Sarsgaard). As her manager and husband, Traynor manipulated her into becoming the star of “Deep Throat,” a 1972 pornographic phenomenon. The 60-minute film was shot in less than a week, with all interior shots filmed in the same cheap motel room. It cost $30,000 to make but grossed almost $600 million, making it one of the most profitable films ever made. Boreman only ever collected a salary of $1,250.

In the 2010 Allen Ginsberg biopic, “Howl,” directors Epstein and Friedman similarly attempted to deconstruct an icon. With “Lovelace,” they make another ambitious attempt at demystification, but they end up with a very limited portrayal that seems more like an impressive television movie than a daring exploration of the darker elements of Boreman’s life.

“Lovelace” follows the brutality and degradation Boreman suffered during her marriage to Traynor and her career in the porn industry before she eventually escaped and went on to write a memoir about her experiences. The film’s bifurcated structure first presents the fantasy of Boreman’s marriage and career as perceived by the public before going back and allowing audiences to observe Boreman’s life through her own eyes. However, the film presents an overwhelmingly simplified version of Boreman’s story, removing many of the most shocking and painful aspects of her life — drug addiction, bestiality, her violent death. The film also glosses over Boreman’s activism in second-wave feminist movements.

Boreman played a crucial role as a spokeswoman for the anti-pornography movement in the early ’80s. However, Andy Bellin’s screenplay cuts out this key part of her life, ignoring her influence on feminist thought. The film arrives at a very abrupt conclusion, attempting to do justice to Boreman’s later life in the final 10 minutes. Despite reports that Sarah Jessica Parker had been cast as anti-porn activist Gloria Steinem in the film, both Steinem and fellow activist Andrea Dworkin are absent. The script instead seems to suggest that Boreman was rescued from the brutality of the porn industry by her second husband and child, as we see her gushing, “As a wife and as a mother, I have found my joy.”

The film suffered from predictably sexist marketing, as film posters depicted Seyfried with come-hither gaze, lips suggestively parted and a falling bra strap exposing cleavage and bare shoulders. However, “Lovelace” is ironically sexless for a film about pornography. Epstein and Friedman opted to treat the sexuality of the film with humor rather than eroticism. Adam Brody, a former star of “The O.C.” and now delightfully adorned with a porn-star mustache as Lovelace’s co-star Harry Reems, told The New York Times, “It’s more ‘American Pie’ than it is Lars von Trier.” The film rests heavily on the notion that all ’70s porn was facetious, and the few sex scenes we do see from “Deep Throat” suggest a cheery and comic production.

The film’s overall attitude toward sex is somewhat confused, as we are offered an abundance of shots of Seyfried topless — along with moments of frivolity and silliness during her scenes with Reems — before abrupt shifts to segments depicting the gritty reality of domestic violence, marital rape and abuse in the (largely mafia-led) porn industry.

“Lovelace” effectively reveals the violence against women that was widespread in the sex industry in the ’70s, but the film is extremely limited in its representation of Boreman and her later life. If “Lovelace” intends to illustrate that Boreman was more than just the brutalized star of “Deep Throat,” it falls flat. The film becomes too lost in the cultural ornaments of the decade and the comic production of “Deep Throat” to make any kind of passionate impact on the viewer, offering a mere glimpse into the life of Linda Boreman before and after her short-lived porn career. For a film about porn, “Lovelace” unsatisfactorily fails to penetrate.

Meadhbh McGrath is the arts editor. Contact her at mmcgrath@dailycal.org. Check her out on Twitter at @MeadhbhMcGrath.

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Soojin Chang/Staff

SXSW had a series of short comedies that were shown before each feature. The one I remember most fondly played during my first morning in Austin after the red carpets for “Mud.” An out-of-town festival attendee is in a theater, talking with disdain about how he isn’t sure if the local Austiners are junkies or rednecks. The week goes by with him in the same movie seat but he drastically changes in all other aspects. By the last scene, he has stayed an extra three days, grown a beard, is amping up strangers for the music festival and is even expressing longing for what Austin “used to be.” It’s satirical but, as there’s truth in all humor, more than accurate because a week at SXSW really does absorb you.

The film portion of the festival was, to put it lightly, like a dream come true. I attended as many features as I could possibly pack into the week and stopped by short films and music videos in between. Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s “Don Jon’s Addiction” definitely felt like a film-school graduate’s first feature, but if anything the simple structure added to the picture’s overall charm and honesty. The comedy alludes to the one-sidedness of movie watching as the fault for failed sexual relationships: porn perpetuates selfish sex and romance movies embed impractical (and also very selfish) expectations of what an ideal companion should be like.

The theme of media-saturated mindsets also took a central seat in Daisy von Scherler Mayer’s “Some Girl(s),” an adaptation of a stage play by the same name. Adam Brody’s character is a writer who has used his past girlfriends for material and is visiting some of the lucky ones around the country to find closure before getting married. He is manipulative, deluded and selfish, but worst of all, he can’t help himself. The writing and performance prove effective because even if the film features possibly the least likable protagonist I have ever followed a story through, the film itself is engaging. “Some Girl(s)” lends itself to reminding viewers of the harsh truths of belatedness and how we, regardless of gender, foolishly attempt to forget our pasts by transferring our guilt and mistakes to the future.

The music festival at SXSW was a madhouse. Nearly all of downtown Austin was blocked off and flooded with young people from noon to dawn. Snoop Dogg performed under his new reggae persona, Snoop Lion, in a surprisingly smooth and natural transformation — as if he was supposed to be a rastafarian all this time. My favorite was a late night set at North Door by Joey Badass, an incredibly talented 18-year-old rapper from Brooklyn. Secret shows by Justin Timberlake, Prince and Depeche Mode played in small venues throughout town, and it was nearly impossible to choose where you should be devoting your elbow-bumping energy at.

The most beautiful part of SXSW was constantly meeting people who have full-time careers doing what they love. Strangers discussed movies while walking out of theatres. Bands around the world drove themselves and slept on friends’ couches so they could play some daytime gigs. Creative autonomy was something I heard over and over during the week, and it’s proven possible in so many different ways. Photographer Jamie Beck, for instance, is able to have full creative control over where to work because she has developed such a large online following. She called the Internet the Wild, Wild West, where there are no rules, and pointed to young people to help each other, not to be afraid to reach out and continue pioneering creativity.

Contact Soojin Chang at schang@dailycal.org.

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Westerly Films/Courtesy

Indie writer-director Whit Stillman returns after a 14-year absence from filmmaking with his new off-kilter comedy, “Damsels in Distress.” Like the Manhattan townhouses in “Metropolitan” (1990), an isolated setting provides much of the content for this movie. In “Damsels”, it’s Seven Oaks College where a quartet of beautiful girls set out to revolutionize life at the grungy institution. Violet Wister (Greta Gerwig) heads the group, with principled Rose (Megalyn Echikunwoke), sweet-natured Heather (Carrie MacLemore) and transfer-student Lily (Analeigh Tipton) ready to help her reform the student population.

The camera follows Violet, Rose, and Heather during orientation as they search for a new member for their group. They spot Lily, a lost-looking girl who they take under their wing. The three explain that, as the student leaders of the Suicide Prevention Center, they aim to combat depression on campus via an odd program that combines donuts, good hygiene and tap-dancing. Violet hopes to turn this program into an international dance craze that will make the world a happier place.

This is the first of a series of odd notes characterizing this motley crew of college women, who not only hold strange ideas about the world but talk in an absurdly elevated way atypical for college students. Stillman followers might recognize this eccentricity as a trademark of his characters, but others might be put off by the peculiarity engineered into the story. In his earlier features, Stillman’s witty dialogue and fresh comic voice managed to endear his audience to even the most unorthodox characters. But here, most of the actresses lack the discipline as comedians to pull off their characters and charm the audience.

At first, Lily serves as an interesting paradox to Violet’s unusual methods, with her initial naivete and curiosity challenging Violet’s views. But as the film rolls along, Tipton’s performance turns stiff, and by the end her inconsistent acting makes a mess of the character. Down the casting line, Echikunwoke and MacLemore don’t take any great strides to have their already petty characters make any lasting impression. Stillman hands Echikunwoke some of the best lines but the actress can’t even summon enthusiasm into her delivery.

Praise Stillman for casting Greta Gerwig, who is authentic, funny and touching as Violet. Although not without her missteps, Gerwig’s scrappiness, quick line delivery and idiosyncratic inflections and expressions put a humorous spin missing from the rest of the cast. At times, even Stillman’s dialogue is too broad and arch for even the most skilled comedian to pull off. But Gerwig’s whimsy shines in the moments such as when she mentions the major problem in contemporary social life: people always dating people “cooler” than themselves. “Why not instead find someone who’s frankly inferior?” she tells Lily. “It’s more rewarding, and in fact quite reassuring.” She makes the quirkiness work and elevates the movie because of it.

The distressing thing about the script is that it never trusts Gerwig to single-handedly carry the movie, as she’s forced to share the spotlight with Tipton. The movie thus lies at a peculiar juncture within his usual level of quality. The killer dialogue and offbeat characters are still there, but the world of Seven Oaks is too disconnected from modern-day viewers. Unlike his previous films, which are rooted in realism, “Damsels” is anachronistic and alienating.

In all honesty, nothing much happens in the movie: musical numbers are performed, girls date and dump boyfriends and there’s tap-dancing. But nothing in this patchy comedy — except for Gerwig — is likely to get anyone’s toes tapping.

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