The Center of the World

by Anna Pulley

The Center of the World (Wayne Wang 2001)

While the premise of The Center of the World is hardly original - think Pretty Woman only less saccharine and shot in gritty, claustrophobic digital - its eroticism, tension and menacing idealism make it leaps and bounds above other prostitution-as-path-to-upper-class-cinderella-fantasy equivalents. Richard (Peter Sarsgaard or, as I like to think of him, Maggie Gyllenhaal's baby daddy) is an awkward, hopelessly genteel dotcom millionaire in desperate want of a woman. He thinks he's found "the one" when he meets Florence, (Molly Parker), drummer, stripper and master of staring vacantly out of windows. After a provocative strip tease at Pandora's Box that appears to be shot using a surveillance camera (it works, trust me), Richard offers to pay Florence $10,000 to spend three nights with him in Vegas, which is a tad too predictable, but why not. Florence agrees to shack up with him under the following conditions: no talking about feelings, no kissing on the mouth and no penetration. Of course it wouldn't be a movie if they adhered to these rules (but it would be pretty similar to a late night trip to the Pottery Barn) and things quickly become much more complicated than the two leads expected.

There's this way in which Peter Sarsgaard always appears slightly non-human (Elijiah Wood too). On the surface, he is kind, chivalrous and self-deluded in a charming way but something about him always looks seething, like he's on the verge of collapse or cannibalism. He proves himself to be sinister in other films (Boys Don't Cry, Kinsey) with an ever-evasive glow of chumminess about him that leads one to believe he's just "one of the boys." The Center of The World offers a similarly explosive scene from Sarsgaard, albeit one that was abrupt and didn't altogether match the scathing nonchalance that pervaded most of the film. Florence, meanwhile, often appears to be either heavily medicated or thirteen. At times, she's so aloof and calculating that it's as if her face is made of titanium but then other times, she'll be playfully wrestling with Richard over a video game and calling her friend and exclaiming, "I think I'm falling for him." Her bipolar behavior isn't mysterious, it's frustrating and she becomes more impenetrable (pun intended) as the plot progresses.

For all the eroticism, loneliness and alienation are the predominant themes in The Center of the World, whose title is interpreted very differently by its two protagonists. For Richard, the internet is the center of the world, where he feels connected and in control. But as Florence later corrects him, the cunt is the "real" center of the world, the portal to life and obviously a source of power that she's cultivated quite well, at least in the beginning. Once the pair finally does have sex, it's the least erotic scene and quickly turns into a brutal, violent confrontation, proving once again that money can't buy you love or happiness (surprise!) but it can buy you a Best Buy gift card, which is, let's be honest, a close second.