"Boxing Helena" follows a wealthy surgeon (Julian Sands) with mommy issues who saves his female neighbor, Helena, whom he's obsessed with, after she is hit by a car in front of his house. After amputating her legs, he goes a step further and turns her into a living Venus de Milo and holds her captive in his home.
This film has a notoriously bad reputation, and my natural thought prior to seeing the film was "there's no way it's that bad." I was kind of wrong. It is pretty dreadful in a lot of ways. The film was directed by Jennifer Lynch, daughter of David Lynch, who wrote the script for the film when she was nineteen. It is not a bad concept by any means; it's a clear-cut meditation on obsession and power, with shades of Samuel Richardson's "Clarissa," as well as further commentary on male sexuality and the female body.
It sounds fascinating, doesn't it? It unfortunately really isn't. The problem with the film lay wholly in its execution, which is amateurish, Lifetime TV-movie-of-the-week status, even by early '90s standards. Unbelievable dialogue doesn't help matters, and the film plods for much of its duration, lacking the sufficient writing necessary to really carry it. The actors here try their best, but even in spite of decent performances, they mostly become voiceboxes that showcase the script's weakness. Julian Sands and Sherilyn Fenn are both great actors and actually have some chemistry on screen, but again, the dialogue renders their performances mostly unconvincing. Bill Paxton, Kurtwood Smith, and Art Garfunkel are also along for the ride here in supporting roles which, again (mainly in Paxton's case), are melodramatic and really shed further light on the weakness of the script.
The film wraps itself up just as uneventfully as it opens, and left me feeling like I'd just witnessed a massive lost opportunity; a solid concept spoiled by feigned pathos, weak dialogue, and amateurish cinematography. Sands and Fenn are the highlights here, but even they can only do so much. It's worth watching for the camp factor, which is where the film has ultimately found an audience. 4/10.
This film has a notoriously bad reputation, and my natural thought prior to seeing the film was "there's no way it's that bad." I was kind of wrong. It is pretty dreadful in a lot of ways. The film was directed by Jennifer Lynch, daughter of David Lynch, who wrote the script for the film when she was nineteen. It is not a bad concept by any means; it's a clear-cut meditation on obsession and power, with shades of Samuel Richardson's "Clarissa," as well as further commentary on male sexuality and the female body.
It sounds fascinating, doesn't it? It unfortunately really isn't. The problem with the film lay wholly in its execution, which is amateurish, Lifetime TV-movie-of-the-week status, even by early '90s standards. Unbelievable dialogue doesn't help matters, and the film plods for much of its duration, lacking the sufficient writing necessary to really carry it. The actors here try their best, but even in spite of decent performances, they mostly become voiceboxes that showcase the script's weakness. Julian Sands and Sherilyn Fenn are both great actors and actually have some chemistry on screen, but again, the dialogue renders their performances mostly unconvincing. Bill Paxton, Kurtwood Smith, and Art Garfunkel are also along for the ride here in supporting roles which, again (mainly in Paxton's case), are melodramatic and really shed further light on the weakness of the script.
The film wraps itself up just as uneventfully as it opens, and left me feeling like I'd just witnessed a massive lost opportunity; a solid concept spoiled by feigned pathos, weak dialogue, and amateurish cinematography. Sands and Fenn are the highlights here, but even they can only do so much. It's worth watching for the camp factor, which is where the film has ultimately found an audience. 4/10.