Nymphomaniac Review

whispers B (Sophie Kennedy Clark), best girlfriend to the highly sex-driven Joe (Stacy Martin). B is serious. Joe knows it’s a joke. As they traipse through their late adolescence having as much as sex as possible with willing men, a project that’s part camaraderie and occasionally a contest for the young women, B eventually falls away from Joe when sentimentality enters the realm of their non-stop conquest agenda. And Joe’s fine with this. She’s got more men to hunt down and subdue.

Adult Joe (Charlotte Gainsbourg) narrates this story after she’s found lying unconscious and bleeding in an alley by meek, intellectual Seligman (Stellan Skarsgard). He brings her home to his book-filled yet otherwise drab flat, gives her a cup of tea, puts her to bed to recover, then listens to her recount her development, from childhood to present injured state, as an unmediated "nymphomaniac." While she recounts the way sex has informed her philosophy, numbed her body, damaged her family, compensated her and pushed her past the diagnoses and interventions of outsiders, Seligman interrupts Joe to digress on analogous subjects like fly-fishing, musical theories of dissonance, Fibonacci numbers, the great East-West schism in the medieval Christian Church, weaponry, blasphemy and celibacy. He’s both the best and worst listener a compulsively sexual storyteller could ask for.

Joe’s men (Shia LaBeouf, Hugo Speer) come and go. A scorned wife (the monstrously wild Uma Thurman) crashes into it all for a quick minute to provide her three young sons with a good look at Joe’s

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