It seemed a potent, haunting place for a scene about power and sex. That night I wrote a version of the lap-dance scene in Closer with characters called A and B. I wanted to figure out who the guy was, who the young woman was, and what happened to them before and after. So is Sex, Lies and Videotape , my other main influence. I wanted to make a sort of indie play. My view was sheep, fields, emptiness. Nothing like the urban environment of the play.
A multiple pile-up of destructive love affairs, betrayal and heartbreak, Closer, adapted from Patrick Marber's hit s play and directed by Mike Nichols, is all about sex. Four fatally solipsistic and implausibly good-looking characters Julia Roberts, Jude Law, Clive Owen and Natalie Portman talk and think about almost nothing else. Because the characters only discuss sex, you never see sex, that's all filled in by you. Wearing jeans, a black polo-neck and a pair of tatty Converse, Portman bears little resemblance to the pink-bobbed, lip-glossed nymphet pouting from the promotional material. For a start, she is much smaller than the camera's obsessive gaze suggests.
Anyone see this yet? I watched it last night with my girlfriend. Plot summary: Some random shit happens, and people get their heart broken.