Lovelace (18)

A great thing happened this afternoon - thanks to the generous nature of friends, we cleared our charity fundraising target of £2,500.

To say this blew my mind would be an understatement. Clearly the milk of human kindness is flowing freely in some parts of the world (something which was celebrated with pizza and wine at the National Media Museum).

Bit of a culture shock then, to go from the warm and fuzzy feeling of people's kind efforts to watching Lovelace, where the milk of human kindness has at best turned sour.

For the uninitiated, Lovelace tells the tale of young Linda and her journey from a Florida backwater to the silver screen as the star of the biggest-grossing porn film of all time, Deep Throat. A journey that takes in rape, domestic abuse, drugs and exploitation.

It's not what you'd call an easy watch.

To be fair, it's not meant to be - the story of her life is harrowing, and as such the film does a top job in making you squirm and feel uncomfortable. You want to help Linda (played brilliantly by Amanda Seyfried) escape, want to lead her to sanctuary while everyone else just leaves her where she is.

But, of course, you can't. So you end up feeling almost complicit in the abuse she suffers at the hands of her husband, Chuck Traynor (Peter Sarsgaard with a performance so perfect you hate him from the outset).

You come out of the cinema feeling dirty and ashamed (there's a parallel to be had with Deep Throat itself, but I'm not sure that's what the directors were aiming for).

But let's start with the positives.

The filming and colouring of the film is great - it looks grainy and 70s, with the film and TV footage made grainier (if that's a word) to add to the feeling you've gone back to 1972. It places the film exactly where it needs to be.

And the performances are great as well. Alongside Seyfried and Sarsgaard, Sharon Stone almost steals the show with a wonderfully-weighted turn as Linda's mother, while Hank Azaria (otherwise known as Huff in Popcorn Towers) is worryingly convincing as Deep Throat's ambitiously pretentious director.

There's even the odd laugh. But as these come from Deep Throat itself (several scenes are re-created here), they too feel slightly awkward.

And if this was simply (I use the term loosely) a tough film about a tough life, then fine, not a problem.

But it's not. And therein lies one of the main problems.

At no point does this film attempt to draw conclusions, or even attempt to lead the audience to any. It makes no stand or statement on the exploitation of the porn industry, the tone is simply 'this is the way it was'. And that tone is carried throughout the film. It's almost as if the directors didn't fully believe in the story they were telling.

Then there are the photo shoots Linda is put through. Granted in these she at least looks like she's enjoying the moment (although one could equally argue that she would, it's the face she had to put on to survive), but given the life Linda is living through, given how she is being exploited - why the hell are we shown so many shots of Amanda Seyfried's breasts?

I get that those pictures exist. I get that it's an event that took place. What I don't get, given how exploited Linda Lovelace was, is the need for further gratuitous nudity.

The actual sex scenes are handled carefully, leaving everything to the imagination, so why the need to have Seyfried on full show? It adds nothing. We really didn't need to see THAT much of the photo shoot. It just appeared cheap.

I could be over-reacting of course (I'm not), but when care and a delicate touch are used in so many other areas...

And then there's the score. Seyfried's performance is masterful, it compels you to connect and feel what she is feeling. What you don't need is some over-zealous violinist layering it with pity music. Pity is not the emotion this film should be going for. Anger, fine. Empathy, of course. Sadness, naturally. But not pity.

It could, of course, go for triumphant survival, but by the time the ending rocks up you're two steps from calling the Samaritans, so it doesn't quite get you there.

There's also a problem with prior knowledge with this film, strangely.

My viewing companions were not aware of the story of Linda Lovelace and her brutal marriage, so they didn't get the same sense of nasty foreboding the moment Sarsgaard appears on screen. It's there, but maybe only if you're looking for or expecting it.

(There's also seemingly a row to be had with how a later Sarsgaard scene plays out. I argue the score is deliberately going for a sad, almost pitying tone - which is so out of place I almost threw a shoe at the screen. Two others agree it could be read that way, but didn't get that on first viewing, and the fourth of our party disagrees completely - but admits to not actually noticing the score at that point. Your thoughts are welcome below...)

My other problem is with the telling of the story. The story is told once, straight, and then we go back over events seeing a different, darker version. The "real" story, if you will. This creates further discomfort in the audience (as if there wasn't enough already) by pointing out what you should have been seeing.

It's not a necessary device, it doesn't add anything major to the story (it actually adds bits that make you sit up and want to yell at the screen again - I say 'you', I mean 'me). A straight, linear telling of the tale would have been just as effective.

There are other things I probably ought to say, and probably things I want to say, but I'm still in a state of mild shock.

I knew it wasn't a happy tale of one girl's bid for fame using skills she didn't learn in school, but nothing prepared me for just how violated I was going to feel by the end.

The scenes of domestic violence and sexual exploitation pull no punches - and they shouldn't - making it a harrowing cinematic experience. But that's not what leaves me feeling as I do.

No, it's the fact that no statement is made, no blame is apportioned, no accountability is made, no stand taken. All things that led Linda to be in her situation in the first place, sadly.